A War Every Week
by SherlockedSherlockian
Summary: Sherlock's 23. John's 25. Sherlock's in London. John's in Afghanistan. While Sherlock Holmes, consulting-detective-to-be, completes University, John's away in a foreign country on military service. With two childhood friends separated by miles, one in love and the other falling fast, will there ever be a happy ending? Co-authored with the brilliant CowMow as John Watson. Johnlock.
1. A Call to Make Up for the Miles

With a broad smile on his face, 25-years-old doctor John H. Watson lay down in his tent and opened the laptop in front of him. He made connection to the internet with the code he had just been given and waited for the computer to make connection to Skype. In the background, shouts were heard, voices yelling commands, but John didn't listen. He was on break now, meaning he had 30 minutes to spend for his own leisure. He checked his watch, and smiled. He was right on time. He adjusted his beret, and stared at the screen. /Sherlock Holmes, online/. He impatiently clicked on the photo of Sherlock – in the hat. "Hi, gorgeous," he grinned as soon as Sherlock's face appeared on the screen.

"Good afternoon, John. Looking great as always. How are you?"

John smirked and leaned closer to the screen to see Sherlock better. "I'm knackered," he admitted truthfully. "I'm sure you heard about those attacks yesterday? Well, all the victims have been stored here."

"Mm," Sherlock answered, nodding his head, "I did, yes." He sighed a bit. Why wouldn't John just come home? "Are you alright? Apart from being tired, of course?"

John laughed softly, a clear happy sound. "Oh, yes, of course! I'm fine. I'm learning so much here, Sherlock, it's incredible. I even got a ward of my own now, so they are seeing my potential. At least, my superior said so." The blond doctor-to-be was grinning when he spoke about his job. It was dangerous, yes, but he loved it.

"As they should be, and I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," Sherlock smiled, the laugh sending warm tingles throughout his heart. He was glad that John was happy. At least he was content and loving the job, even if Sherlock himself would have advised against the whole idea. "How are your friends?"

John smiled and tilted his head. "Since when do you care about my friends, Sherlock?" he teased. The skin around his eyes wrinkled as he laughed softly at Sherlock's face. "Oh, they're fine. At least they stopped teasing me about my height."

Sherlock sniffed, deeming the first question unworthy of an answer. "Just so you know, you're not that short. I think you're perfect," he replied with a smile. John was just gorgeous. Sherlock loved the way his eyes lit up with his smile.

John's eyes softened, but his smile stayed in place. "Thank you, Lockie." He winked at the man and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "So, how's Uni?"

Sherlock's smile strained a little, but he tried not to show it. "Great, just great. Final year exams soon, then I'm out," he responded, not wanting to talk too much about the shunning and the rather immature treatment.

John's grin turned proud. "That's really good, Sherlock, I'm really proud."

Some extra loud shout had him looking up, behind him. He frowned but when he glanced back at Sherlock his face was almost back to normal. "Read any good book for British Lit?" He asked.

"We're doing Carlyle at the moment, but nothing exemplary as yet," he admitted, "forensics is lots of fun, though. We get to look in at real crime scenes."

There was another shout, and again John looked behind him. "Sorry, Sherlock, one sec." He got up from the bed and left his tent to look around. There was nothing to see yet, but the faces of their superiors were tense. Something was coming, then.

Sherlock grew increasingly uncomfortable, wishing that he was there. He bit his lower lip. _Just come back inside, John. Even better, come home. It'll be like the old times. You remember high school, don't you?_

John soon did return inside, his face grave. "Sherlock, I'm really sorry, but we ha-" John's blue eyes grew wide when the internet connection fell away, and the call was disconnected.

Sherlock didn't attempt to make reconnection. He knew already what was happening. Sighing in frustration, he got up to make a call to his brother. Much as he despised the fact, Mycroft was the best way of keeping informed.

John, miles and miles away, growled in frustration, slamming the lid of his laptop closed. His call to Sherlock was the thing he most looked forward to, and to have it ended this soon... he got up and snatched his beret, stomping out of the tent to get his rifle.

Mycroft sighed and picked up the phone. "Yes, little brother?"

"Mycroft…" Sherlock said, sounding a little desperate, "can I please have an update on John's location in Afghanistan?"

Mycroft sighed deeply and turned to his computer. "Hang on, I'm updating now. Why are you asking? Did he miss your date again?"

"This isn't funny!" Sherlock seethed. "We lost connection while on Skype. I'm worried something's happened." It was bound to, though. Everything was so risky in his friend's job.

Mycroft hummed softly as he stared at the messages on his screen. Thank goodness he was a good liar. "There's nothing," he said, "Must have been the bad internet there."

"Nothing?" Sherlock cried incredulously, "Mycroft, when I said 'update', I meant whether there's been a bombing or an egg poached I /want to know/!"

"Honestly, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, exasperated. "Try and be an adult, will you? Nothing happened, at all. Only bad internet."

Frustrated, Sherlock hung up. Right then, he would have to hack into Mycroft's system and find out for himself. It would take an hour or so, but it would be worth it.

In Afghanistan, John's camp was indeed attacked, both by bombings and by freedom fighters. John was alright, if tired and dirty, but not wounded, unlike many of his friends. Communication was difficult though, because most of the lines had been cut, but they were able to get messages to the other camps, a cry for help.

Back in London, the brunette had just gotten into Mycroft's system. Sherlock being Sherlock, he indulged in the satisfaction of temporarily blocking Mycroft's access to the government files, just to revel in the vengeance. When he saw the Afghan updates, however, the smug smile was wiped right off his face. He went pale, paler than usual, and once again reached for his phone.

"Damnit, Sherlock!" Mycroft cursed as soon as he had picked up. "I need those files, right now!"

"No," Sherlock responded icily, "you lied to me, Mycroft."


	2. My Sergeant Told Me

Mycroft sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I did it for your own good, Sherlock. What use is worrying about him when you can't do anything?"

"Can't /you/ do something?!" he insisted, voice reverting back to almost a beg, "Please, Mycroft? Can't you get the troops brought home, or something?"

Mycroft sighed deeply. "No, I cannot, Sherlock. I am not the Minister of Defence. And it was John's choice, not mine." He cleared his throat and typed in the overruling password. "I cannot help you, Sherlock. I'm sorry."

"Well then, I cannot help you either, Mycroft. Expect to pay government intelligence to investigate any suspicious affairs for you, from now on." With that, he hung up again, pacing the floor and chewing on his nails. Was it always going to be like this? Why didn't John understand that he was needed here in London?!

Mycroft stared at the phone, the dull tone sounding from it mocking him. "Right," he mumbled, putting it away from him so he could continue his other tasks.

The detective-to-be sat down on his sofa, roughly upsetting his already messy hair. _It wasn't fair! _Didn't John see how he felt? They'd been friends for longer than either could remember. What had been the point of all the food fights, the bike rides through the country, the hours sat close while Sherlock read aloud and John listened until they both fell asleep, if all that was to become of it was pain and misery?

In Afghanistan, John surveyed the wounded in his small hospital. The fight was over, but so, so many had been hurt, or killed. He shivered and took some time to take a deep breath, before getting to work on helping his comrades as well as he could.

It was well past midnight when he fell down on his bunkbed, staring at his laptop. Sherlock might be online... He opened the lid of the laptop and checked for connection, sighing in relief when he had two bars. Not enough for a video chat, but enough for a normal chat.

'Hey Sherlock.'

"John! I was so worried. Are you alright? Please tell me that you are!" His voice was strained, like he had not done anything but worry in ages, and sleeping was out of the question.

John sighed soflty and said, "Yes, Sherlock, I'm fine. There was no need to wo-"

"Dammit!" Sherlock snarled, hitting the table in frustration. That needed to stop happening! He would happily /pay/ for a new line of internet out near John's camp, had it been allowed.

John rubbed his eyes and wished he could sleep. But he also knew that Sherlock would be worried even more, so he tried to get the connection back, though he resorted to typing now, that would put less strain on the connection.

Sorry about that, John typed, Keeps happening. But I am fine, if exhausted. How are you? J

I'm alright, John. You should get some rest. When is your next fortnight of leave? - SH

I will, soon. My leave will be soon, I hope, it has been three months since. I'll ask my senior officer, I'll let you know. Depends on the situation, of course. J

That's what you always say. Make it soon. I…miss you. - SH

I'll do my best, Lockie. Try not to worry too much about me, okay? I'm fine. J

Just keep safe, John, whatever you do. I'm always going to worry, you know that. - SH

Yes, I know you will. I just wish you wouldn't. J

I had a nightmare last night. I don't know why I'm telling you this, though. - SH

John nervously licked his lips and then ran a hand over his face. He really wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn't cut this off.

Tell me? J

Maybe later. You need rest – I just realised what the time must be there. Go to sleep, John. - SH

You're probably right, yes. Will you tell me later? Or you can email me, perhaps? I'll read it as soon as I can. J

Sure. I'll email you. Sleep well. - SH

Good night, Sherlock. J

With a soft sigh, John waited for the reply that didn't come anymore, so he closed Skype and turned his laptop off. Time to sleep.

When Sherlock was sure that John was asleep, the twenty-three year-old started typing up his email.

_It was an odd nightmare. But they're all odd, aren't they? It was a dream about the two of us, having a sleepover like we used to during high school. When I woke up at dawn, you weren't there, so I went looking for you – I was running down every single corridor in my house, and I could hear your voice sometimes, but I could never see you. Then I heard a gunshot…and it was night again, and I couldn't hear you anymore. That's when I woke up. It was scary. SH_

When John woke up the next morning, he tried to make connection to the internet, but constantly failed. It was a week later - a week with many deaths on the road, several trips to villages to patch local people up, and failing internet - that John was finally able to get internet again, and reading Sherlock's email was the first thing he did.

It was dark again, and cold, when John made connection to Skype. He had had emails from his mother and Harry and some other friends to reply, and was now eager to talk to Sherlock. All he had to do was for Sherlock to accept the call.

"John," Sherlock answered after a bit, voice a little tired. He was happy, yes, that John was alright, but he was worried all the same. He had been stressing out this whole week, and he knew that a few calls a month would do very little to quell the constant fear inside of him. Uni wasn't helping, and the better his marks, the worse the bullying. It was as if they were still in high school. Sherlock had fixed that by smoking, but John had forced him to stop, and now the brunette was tempted to return to his old ways. Who was there to stop him, anyway?

The happiness of being able to talk to Sherlock was quashed when he heard Sherlock's voice. Sure, his heart jumped a bit when he heard that wonderful baritone, but the sadness and exhaustion that fell out of that one word made John wonder - not for the first time, mind - if he had made the right decision. Sure, he loved his job, but the strain it placed on his best friend wasn't worth all this. "Hey," John said, shifting a bit to get more comfortable. "How are you?"

"I'm very well, thank you," Sherlock answered, lifting his tone to forcibly sound happier. "And how are you? I expect you couldn't call because of the internet. That's alright, though. I sent you a couple of books via post – I found your location by hacking into Mycroft's system. They should arrive tomorrow morning, and you'll be sure it's mine, because I drew a little smiley under my initials," the young man said, laughing a little at himself.

John laughed too, grateful to have a friend like Sherlock. "That's great, Lockie, thank you. I'm looking forward to it already." He kept smiling, imagining how Sherlock would look like right now. "And yes, it was that blasted internet. They tried to fix it, but we only have power for one evening a week. I'm sorry." He closed his eyes and pictured his friend, all long pale limbs and black curls.

"Not your fault," Sherlock said softly in response. "Mike said to say hi by the way. It's the flu season back here, so he's working overtime and didn't get to write." John's laugh was like a precious commodity to Sherlock, half way across the world, and he treasured the sound.

"Oh, the poor sod," John said, still smiling. "I really don't envy him. But what are you up to these days?"

"Not much," Sherlock answered quickly, "just working on assignments. But I'm assisting the Yard more often now – the new DI actually appears to be agreeable. I've closed about eight cases in this fortnight alone, so I think he's starting to admit that I could be of some use."

John hummed softly, "Well, of course he does, that's what I keep saying. You are brilliant." He fell silent a bit, staring at the little picture of Sherlock on his screen. "So, you keep busy, then?"

"I'm getting by. That's all that matters, isn't it?" he responded softly, changing the subject. "Anyway, do you know what your next mission is, yet?" Sherlock asked with a smile, "Town to conquer, base to capture?"

John began to grin. "Actually, now that you mention it, yes, I do know what my next mission is going to be."

"Really?" Sherlock said, "What is it? Hopefully I can keep tabs on you."

"Well, my sergeant said that I had to go on a plane, fly to London, and give my best friend a bone crushing hug." He waited in silence for the penny to drop.

For a whole minute, Sherlock just sat there, stunned into silence. Finally, a small, disbelieving voice murmured, "You're joking…John?! Really?" The tone changed from one of shocked meekness to one of uncontrolled excitement. "No way! Where? When? What time?"

John laughed happily at Sherlock's excitement. That's how he knew him. "Erm, I don't know the exact time, but it will probably be three days from now, landing at Heathrow." He just kept grinning all the way through, though he was also wondering why he was so extremely happy to see Sherlock again. "It'd be for two weeks, as usual, but I don't have exact details yet."

"Doesn't matter! Three days from now, you said? Gosh, there's so much to do – I need to clean up the flat, and go pick up those jam doughnutty-things you like…and…there's so little time!" The clinks and shuffling of paper and other objects could already be heard as an ecstatic, elated Sherlock Holmes began sorting and cleaning excitedly around the flat.

John actually giggled. "You're an idiot, Sherlock," he told him, though his voice was fond. "You really are. One would think your girlfriend would be coming over. It's just me, 'member?"

Sherlock made a disgusted noise at the mention of the word girlfriend. "I can assure you that if I had one – which I do not – and if she were to come over – which I would not allow – I would not be as overjoyed as I am today. You're my best friend, John!"

John bit his lip. His heart shouldn't flip over at that as it did. "And you're mine, Lockie, I can't wait to be back and see everyone again. When I know more, I'll let you know somehow. And if not, just ask Mycr-"

"A simple password should do it," the brunette muttered, interrupting before his insufferable brother's name could be mentioned. "I'll consult his system. If not, I don't mind waiting at the airport all day. You're worth it."

John's cheeks heated up and he had to clear his throat to be able to reply properly. "Thank you, Sherlock, I'm... flattered that you think so." He sighed softly and rubbed his eyes and his aching head. "I'd better go to sleep now, then. Sorry, but today was…exhausting to say the least."

"Alright, Johnny. Sleep well, and I'll see you soon! Really see you!" Sherlock added in a slightly more excited pitch. Realise how childish he sounded, he chuckled and apologised. "Sorry. I'm just really happy that you're coming home. Sweet dreams, and goodnight."

John laughed softly, said it was fine - because it was - and ended the call. He'd be in London in three days. And he'd see Sherlock again. And it was that last thought that made him fall asleep with a grin on his face.


	3. Proper Tea and Doughnuts

Sherlock was pacing the floor of the airport, consulting his watch every five seconds. He was dressed in tight, black skinny-jeans, a form-fitting purple shirt, and he had even gone to the trouble of adding just a little cologne. He knew John liked this shirt the most, even though he would never admit it. It was 9:53am. As of this second, John was precisely three whole minutes late. That was three whole minutes of the fortnight gone. Sod everyone in charge of the landing pad.

Half an hour than planned, John plucked his dufflebag off the conveyer belt and swiftly walked over to the doors. He looked every bit the handsome soldier with his beret, his uniform and black boots. He even had a white band with a red cross around his arm, showing he was a medic. For now, he just tightly held his bag as he jogged down the corridor to the hall where Sherlock would be.

"John!" with a relieved grin and untainted joy on his features, Sherlock ran up to close the gap between them, wrapping John in a big, warm hug and holding him almost possessively to himself. "John…" he breathed into his shoulder, "welcome home."

John had dropped his bag and hugged Sherlock back right away. He sighed happily and closed his eyes as he inhaled Sherlock's scent. "Hello Lockie," he said, swaying them from the left to the right and back.

Sherlock grinned, chuckling from pure relief at having him home, safe, in his arms. Actual tears found their way out of his ducts and wet his cheeks. "Hello indeed, my dear soldier. You look amazing as always, but you've put on some extra muscle," he teased, grinning even more widely.

John laughed and pulled away, grinning back at Sherlock. "Oh, Lockie, you're crying!" He held Sherlock's face in his hands and thumbed the tears away from his cheekbones. "Don't cry, silly, I'm fine!"

"You are now," Sherlock smiled, blushing, deciding to ignore the fond smiles and empathetic glances they were receiving from some of the other commuters and travellers. "Let's go home." He picked up John's bag and slung it over his own shoulder, "I've got a cab waiting."

John nodded, and followed Sherlock outside, in the fresh English air. "It's good to be back," he told Sherlock as they got in the cab. "I missed you. Platonically, of course," he added, grinning.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but made no further comment on the matter, looking out of the window as the cab took off, "I think you're fully aware that I missed you too. I'm going to put in a complaint to whomever the Minister for Defence is, asking that they lengthen, or at least increase the number of, holidays that you guys get."

"I'll sign it too," John said, nodding. He felt so happy, and restful, too, now that he saw Sherlock. It was an increasing feeling of his, the longing to see Sherlock, or to hug him. "How many classes do you have?" He asked Sherlock after a short while.

"I'm on study break," Sherlock grinned cheekily, "which I may or may not have extended to get a free fortnight with you. I only have one lecture on one day for an extra unit I'm doing, but aside from that, it's no Uni for two weeks."

John grinned widely, already looking forward to it. Although... "I have to visit mum and Harry at least once," John mumbled, "Remember last time?"  
His mother had been livid, and Harry had yelled at him for a good hour before hanging up on him.

"Of course. If you'd rather stay with her and your sister for the fortnight, I can ask the cab to make a detour…?" he asked. "I suppose it was presumptuous of me to expect that you'd want to lodge with me like you used to…"

John gave him a pointed look. "You're not serious, are you? Me, preferring to stay with mum and Harry over staying with you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Don't think so. Besides, I'm sure you bought me the jam doughnuts? Mum never buys me those." He grinned, a smile which lit up his whole face.

Sherlock laughed happily, nodding, "I did. Oh, by the way…did you get that package I sent up to Afghanistan for you?" he inquired. John's smile was certainly contagious.

John hummed and nodded. "Yes, I did, I forgot to thank you for them, sorry." He squeezed his friend's knee and said, "I'll take you to dinner to thank you properly. I only read the first one, actually, but it was brilliant. I love Stephen King."

Sherlock gave him a fond smile, "You don't need to do anything like that, John – you've no idea how happy I am that you're here…" the cab stopped outside Baker Street, and Sherlock paid the cabbie, then got out after. Once more, he carried John's bag up into the flat, unlocking it and holding it open for John.

John got out of the cab, grinning at two girls who walked by, whistling at him. "Ladies," John greeted, saluting them. He laughed as they blushed, and then got after Sherlock to enter the flat.

Sherlock dramatically rolled his eyes as he shed his shoes and walked up the staircase. "Not changed a bit, then," he observed with a little laugh of his own.

John snickered as he followed Sherlock up, leaving his bag for what it was. "Well, you can't blame me, Sherlock, haven't seen a woman for half a year..." he sighed deeply, inhaling the familiar scents of what he always associated with Sherlock. "Good to be back," he mumbled, glancing around.

The young man raised an eyebrow, "Do you want a lift to the club, then?" he teased with a smirk, remembering the many nights John spent away at the local nightclub while waiting for his details to be processed so that he could join the army. Those awful months. He had told him not to go, but…it didn't matter now. "Tea?" he added.

John's eyes landed on Sherlock and he nodded. "Oh, yes please!" He nodded eagerly and stepped closer to his friend. "Proper tea?"

"Proper tea it is," he smiled, nodding to the coffee table that he had cleaned. A big bag of jam donuts sat on it, with a smiley face drawn on it. In John's room, Sherlock had laid new sheets and placed a gift-wrapped parcel on the bed, which consisted of a few new shirts and jumpers (a private joke in reference to the school jumper John was seldom seen without in his earlier years) and an expensive new watch, shatterproof and waterproof.

John bit his lip and looked from the bag back at Sherlock. "Thank you," he said, his eyes grateful. "You're the best friend a person could ever wish for." He sat down on the sofa, taking his beret and heavy boots of, sighing happily as he wriggled his toes.

Sherlock smiled softly, bringing the tea over and sitting down next to him, "You're seriously that appreciative? Just for the doughnuts? I'll send you some when you're in Afghanistan. There are freezing bags good enough to preserve them for the two-day express flight, I'm sure."

John rolled his eyes. "It isn't the donuts, Lock, but the fact that you're so very thoughtful about what I like and need. Thank you for that." He patted his friend's knee and gave him a soft grin. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome, and it's no trouble, I only see you four times a year – and that's if I'm lucky." He picked up his own tea, leaning against the other lightly as he sipped the hot beverage.

John curled an arm around Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him closer. "You know," he whispered after a while, "I would never let anyone get between us, not even our girlfriends." He sighed happily and buried his nose in Sherlock's curls. It was good to be home.


	4. You're Too Skinny Again

Sherlock's stomach did a happy little flip at that, and he smiled, slipping his own arm around John's waist. "You let your job get in between us, though. But that's okay, as long as you're enjoying it," he whispered under his breath, almost hoping that John wouldn't hear. He needed to voice it, though.

John didn't hear it, thankfully, as he was enjoying his tea and the donuts. Much, much better than in Afghanistan. He smiled happily and blinked lazily, tired from the long flight, but unwilling to sleep right now.

Internally sighing in relief, Sherlock drew pointless patterns on John's thigh. He should cherish these moments. One day, he might get the phone call – and then these memories would be all he had because he'd know that John wasn't coming home. "Remember when we used to play in my mum's back garden, and I deduced that you were late to my place due to eating donuts because of the stain on your shirt?" He giggled. They had been about six, that time.

John laughed softly at that memory. "Oh, I've always been a bad friend," John said, chuckling. "I brought you some the next time, though, so we could eat them together." He smirked as his eyes closed, eyelids heavy. "But we've always been good friends, haven't we?"

"For as long as you've liked jam," Sherlock smiled, eyes fondly glancing over his friend's tired features. "Let's finish our tea, and then you should get some real sleep, huh?"

John nodded and forced his eyes open. "Sorry that I'll be wasting time sleeping," he mumbled, staring down at his cuppa. "I'm just... it's a long flight."

"I know, I understand," he said, draining his cup before sitting up a little more and giving him a hug. "You won't be wasting time, you'll be recuperating, which is what I want." He gently rubbed his arm.

John smiled gratefully and finished his tea as well. "Thank you, Lockie. Shall we go to Angelo's tonight?" He gave his friend a grin and tilted his head, a characteristic he has had since they were infants.

Sherlock grinned back softly and nodded, "That'll be nice. I haven't been in ages." Just at that moment, Mrs Hudson came upstairs. The landlady gave the soldier a big hug and cried happily, "John Hamish Watson! Where _have _you been? Has your job become so interesting that the once-a-term holidays are no longer necessary?"

John laughed softly and patted the elder lady's back. "I missed you too, Mrs. H," he said, hugging her tightly and even lifting her off the floor. He kissed her cheek and let her study him. "Do I still look good?" he asked playfully.

She blushed slightly, laughing, "Yes, you still look very handsome, Mr Watson, now please – put me down!" The detective concealed a giggle at the rather adorable display, watching with eyes that danced with mirth. It truly was amazing to have his friend back.

"You can have it as often as you want, dearie," she cooed, "and /please/ try and get some food into your friend," she added with a dramatic sigh, "the dear's not had a proper dinner since you were last here! Always working away on assignments or off on cases and immersed in work, barely know when he's around, nowadays! You would think he's in mourning." Sherlock gave her a look.

John frowned and looked back at Sherlock, measuring him. He was indeed thin. Thinner than normal, actually, and there were bags under his eyes. John forced a smile on his face and turned back to Mrs. H. "Oh, we're going out for dinner tonight, at Angelo's."

"Aww! That's sweet! I must be off now, love. Got some other tenants to check up on about the noise. Enjoy yourselves, both of you!" She blew them kisses and bustled off.

John blinked and stared at the empty spot. "One would think she'd take it easier now, but no.. she's still the same." John turned around, still grinning. "So, shower and bed. Will you wake me up at 5.30?"

"Of course, I'll take your bag up to your room for you. I've left a fresh towel, too," smiling sweetly, the beginning detective let his friend pick a change of clothes before taking the bag upstairs.

John smiled too and took his clothes into the bathroom, where he got out of his green uniform until he could let the water pour over his tanned, muscled body. He sighed happily and turned around. Goodie, he had missed hot showers like this.

Back in John's room, Sherlock unpacked the other's bag for him, putting everything where John usually put it, and turning on the heater so that the room warmed up for him. Seeing everything was perfect, he smiled and left the room so that the other could have his privacy.

John took his time showering, so it was almost half an hour later that he stepped away from under the spray, drying himself off with the fluffy towel. He dressed up in his pants and pyjama bottoms, but belatedly realised he had grabbed a button up instead of his pyjama top. So, shirtless, he exited the bathroom.

Sherlock had quite some trouble tearing his eyes away from his friend, and even when he managed to, the image of the half wet, toned, slightly tanned figure of John's refused to leave his mind. He gave him a little smile, before going back to his laptop and saying, "Certainly, John, I understand why every single girl you meet wants to date you."

John's cheeks had flushed a little under Sherlock's intent gaze. "Erm, yeah, well..." Awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. "It's what you get when you're in the army, Lock. You sure you don't want to switch careers? We could go on doubledates.."

Sherlock burst into laughter, looking back up at him, "John, I have no intention of dating. But more importantly, I love my job, and boxing is good enough for me. I would never be anything else but a detective – and when I get out of Uni, I'll be established as the only consulting detective in the world. The only reason I would ever choose a different path is if it would ensure your happiness."

John smirked, but then his face turned pensive. "Wait…why would you choosing something else make me happy? Don't be ridiculous. We're just…friends."

"If you wanted me to do something else, I would, John. And I might be just a friend to you, but to me, you're my only friend."

John closed his eyes. Stupid, John, well done. "You're not /just/ a friend, Sherlock, you're my best friend, and you know it." He fell silent, not sure how to respond to this. He was too tired to deal with it now. "I'm off to bed, don't forget to wake me, please."

"Of course," he smiled, nodding, "I'll wake you at five thirty." This time Sherlock didn't look up from his laptop, still feeling just a tiny bit hurt by the 'we're just friends' comment.

John nodded and slowly walked up the stairs. When he reached his bedroom, he saw the parcel on the bed, but he was too tired to open it right now, so he just pulled the covers back and slipped under the sheets. He was asleep when his head hit the pillow.

Sherlock went back to his work. When he had finished typing up the essay, he saved it, and then went to go visit Mrs Hudson to make sure she didn't need him to go pick up anything for the shepherds' pie John wanted her to make him sometime. It turned out that she had quite a bit of shopping to get done, and so, Sherlock decided to be thoughtful and go do it for her.

John was woken up by someone gently nudging his shoulder. He groaned and rolled onto his back. "Wassa time?"

"Five thirty-five," Sherlock responded softly, kneeling by John's bedside, "we have to go to dinner in an hour or so, remember, sleepy-head?"

John gave a sleepy grin and nodded once. "Yeah, you're right." He yawned widely and lazily covered it up with his hand. "And you got me a present, I noticed," he mumbled, rolling onto his back. "You didn't have to."

"No, but I wanted to," he said, playfully ruffling his hair. "Now come on, get up and get changed, I'm waiting downstairs." With a wink, grinning at John's sleepy smile, Sherlock turned and left the room.

John looked after Sherlock, a light happy feeling in his chest. Suddenly, he had more energy, so he jumped out of bed and got changed in tight jeans, a dark blue button up with the sleeves rolled up, and even messed his hair up artfully with some gel. Content with how he looked, he applied some cologne, and then went down the stairs with the parcel in his hands.

Sherlock could have downright proposed to John in that moment when he saw him come downstairs. He looked...gorgeous. There was simply no other word for it. His toned physique and muscled arms, and the adorable way his hair looked when messed up was enough to send anyone one of control. Sherlock, for his part, was wearing a deep, wine-red shirt and grey skinny jeans, and a tight vest over the top to match the jeans. He smelt just lightly of his usual cologne, and his hair was past help, so he had just run a comb through it and left it as it was.

John looked up and met Sherlocks eye. His own blue ones drifted down, scanning Sherlock's appearance. "You look good," he said, a lopsided grin on his face. "New clothes?" He walked past Sherlock and put the parcel on the table.

"New since you last visited, yes," he answered with a smile, leaning against the desk, "and thanks. You look pretty dashing yourself."

"Thanks. Your outfit.. its.. It's nice," John said, once more looking at Sherlock. "You're too skinny again, though. You should eat more."

Sherlock just looked away and nodded absently, "Yeah…" he mumbled. "Guess I should."

John's eyes softened. "Ey, I'm not angry. I understand that Uni is taxing these days. Now, let's open this and have dinner later, yes?" He set his hands on his hips before he tugged at the strings, folding the paper away.

"Okay," he smiled sweetly, nodding, though he still seemed slightly out of it. "Go ahead."


	5. I Spent Most of My Time With You

John bit his lip and smirked when he saw the jumpers and the shirts. "Oh, Lockie..!" He lifted them one by one, admiring each of them with a delighted look on his face. "This is wonderful, Sherlock, you didn't have t- Oh." He had spotted the small box at the bottom. "What's this?"

Sherlock allowed him to see for himself, smile a little shy. "I'm...glad you like them," he said, "I'm not really a shopper, but at least I got the sizes right."

John stared at the box, and nodded absently at Sherlock as he opened it. He stared at the watch inside and gasped, looking at Sherlock with wide eyes. "You bought me a watch? Sherlock, you're insane! That's bloody expensive!"

Sherlock sighed dramatically, remembering how they always had this conversation whenever he bought him something out of the ordinary. He had tried the explanations about money not being an issue and that he did it because he wanted to, but John never seemed to listen. "If you don't like it, just say so," he muttered tiredly. "It took forever for me to find, so you don't have to be so critical."

John grinned widely and looked from the watch to Sherlock and back. "Oh, you beautiful idiot," he said, giving Sherlock a grateful look and a tight hug. "I love it, thank you so much." He closed his eyes when he inhaled Sherlock's cologne, the one that smelled of _home. _"It's beautiful, Sherlock, thank you so much."

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh a bit, as he warmly hugged him back, enjoying the closeness and warmth of having John in his arms. "Me or the watch?" he joked, laughing softly and closing his eyes too. It had truly been far too long.

John turned his head a bit, and his smile disappeared when he suddenly had the overwhelming desire to press a kiss to that soft, smooth skin. His grip on Sherlock's waist tightened while he kept silent, just... just enjoying this.

Feeling John cling to him tighter, Sherlock wished they could do this all the time. He had never felt – nor would ever feel – about anyone the way he felt for John. He gently whispered after a bit, "I really, really, really missed you. And this."

John nodded, eyes closed again. "Me too, Sherlock." He rubbed Sherlock's back once and then let go, smiling up at him. "So, erm... Thank you. F-for the watch, and the hug, of course." He cleared his throat and held his left wrist out, holding the watch in his other hand. "Honour's up to you."

Sherlock smiled, "Seems a shame to cover up even part of that lovely arm," he chuckled, very gently and caringly fixing the new watch onto his wrist, concentrating on fitting it perfectly so that is wasn't too loose or tight.

John looked down at his wrist when Sherlock's slender fingers fastened the wrist band. All he saw of Sherlock's face was his nose, the rest was covered with dark, soft curls. "Not when it's such a beautiful watch," John said softly, smiling softly at Sherlock. "Thank you."

Sherlock grinned slightly, "There you go, perfect fit. You're welcome, by the way. Now – I believe we had plans?"

John grinned too. "Yes. Yes, we had. Dinner, I believe? Well, Mr. Holmes, get your coat. This soldier is starving."

Sherlock laughed lightly, getting into his dark coat. John still remembered the little things, and Sherlock was genuinely touched by that. When they were ready to leave, he offered the young army doctor his arm.

John chuckled and took his friend's arm, not caring about the weird looks they got. "So, Lock, any interesting cases you've solved?" he asked his friend.

"Helped out with one at my Uni, actually. Missing teacher," he grinned, "got abducted while getting a naval piercing, quite amusing."

John's eyes widened. "A nava- how did you find that out?" he asked, eyes dancing with mirth. "You must have been brilliant, Sherlock. I want to know everything."

Sherlock grinned and started rattling of details. "One of the teachers never showed up for a lecture, and after many attempts to contact her, she still could not be found. The campus asked me to investigate so that the police wouldn't have to be involved, hence preserving the reputation of the university. Following my initial inquiries, I was able to locate the last place she was seen alive by anyone other than her abductor. She was at a small piercing salon in outer London."

John smirked, and opened the door to the restaurant for him. "And why was she abducted? By whom?"

"Thanks," Sherlock smiled, walking through and hanging up his coat like usual, "well, turns out the piercing went 'wrong'…and she was stabbed in the stomach with an anaesthetic needle. I traced the instruments used back to a shady clinic out in Surrey. That was where they were holding her. I managed to ascertain via the clinic secretary…women are very liable to flattery and, well – attention…where she was being held. It was my theory that her captors had seen in her some physical attribute they could use to their advantage. After rescuing her from the confines of an equipment storeroom, I was told that she was being held because of her blood type. Apparently, the piercing salon had infected the blood of some relatively wealthy customer by using rusted instruments on them, and – as the customer did not want to make public that he had got a piercing, hence his choice of salon – the individual agreed not to sue in return for the rare AB blood type which he required for his transfusion."

John stared at Sherlock as they sat down at their table. "That was brilliant, Sherlock! Awesome." He nodded enthusiastically. "That you found that out…amazing! How long did it take you this time?"

"Uhm," he said, blushing a bit, "forty eight hours…" Yes. Forty eight hours of Mrs Hudson lecturing about sleep and food, but at least he had got the job done!

John kept nodding, even when he picked up the card. "Brilliant, Sherlock. Brilliant as ever." He glanced at his friend over the menu, smiling fondly at him. "Did they pay you?"

The young man smiled, "They wanted to, but I refused, so in the end they decided to let me take an extra degree of my choice for free."

John frowned. "You never told me, Sherlock. Which one did you choose?"

"A Masters in Medical Science," he said softly, smiling at him, "helps me conduct my own autopsies."

John looked impressed. "Wow, well.. On top of literature and Law and Science? You sure that's gonna be alright? It's quite much…"

"I don't have much else to do, do I? My cases come and go, and they don't take long to solve. What else am I supposed to fill the empty time with?"

John hummed softly. "Well, what did you do before you went to uni? You did experiments, went out with friends…Or how about eat and sleep?"

"I spent most of my time with you, remember?" he said quietly, looking away. "I only ate and slept because you made me. Besides, I…I like the work. It makes me feel like I have a purpose."

John frowned and lowered the menu. "You do have a purpose, Sherlock. You know you do."

"I used to think so too. Anyhow," Sherlock said, forcing a smile and quickly changing the subject, "what do you feel like? The usual, or are you daring enough now to try something new and exotic?"

John wasn't fooled this easily, but refused to let it ruin their night out. "I think I'll try something else. I've begun to appreciate salmon. Bill Murray taught me how to like it, so I'll go for pasta with Salmon, I think. It's the most adventurous I can handle for now."

Sherlock grinned and nodded, "Wise choice, John. I think I'll opt for butter chicken myself. I've not tried Angelo's," he waved the man over and allowed John to order.

John ordered, as well as a bottle of wine, and a pitcher with water. He sat back and just enjoyed being home. "It's good to be home," he told Sherlock. "More than before, actually." He grinned a bit. "I hadn't missed it like this before."

* * *

**Author's Note: SherlockedSherlockian (Playing Sherlock)**

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	6. I'd Love a Dance With You

As Angelo walked off grinning with the promise of a candle and an extra something to celebrate John's return, Sherlock chuckled and looked over at his friend. Why didn't he stay, then? John belonged here. "Can't say I missed you more than before, because I wish you were here, home, every second of every day, no matter what year it is or how soon you're coming back to visit." He looked up at him. "Mycroft lied to me. The first time the internet died on us those few days ago…he said it was just the power lines."

John fell silent at that. He knew Sherlock missed him, but that badly? He ran a hand over his face and looked back at Sherlock. "I never knew," he said, now looking down at his hands. "I'm sorry you miss me that much."

_But you don't miss me back, so what's the point of being sorry? _Sherlock thought to himself. But of course he didn't say that. "Not your fault. I expect it wouldn't be so bad if I knew you were safe. If something ever happened to you, John…" he trailed off, unable to finish.

John's eyes flitted up. "Yes?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said quickly, shaking his head, "nothing at all." Angelo interrupted them with their food and wine, and told them he'd bring a romantic dessert later. The detective rolled his eyes, but fondly.

John grinned after the owner of the restaurant, and then looked back at his friend. "I know there are risks, Lockie," he said, "But I'm a medic, I'm not in much danger, in comparison with the other guys." He tilted his head a little. "I'm not telling you not to worry, that'd be unfair. But I am telling you to have faith."

Not wanting to be depressing, Sherlock gave him a smile and nodded. He filled John's glass and then his own in thoughtful silence before he spoke, "You have a point. I do trust you, and your abilities."

John nodded and suddenly reached out to place his hand over Sherlock's. "I will always come back to you, Sherlock. I promise."

Looking down at their linked hands, Sherlock smiled tenderly and nodded. "Good. Thank you," he whispered approvingly, before picking up his fork. "Now – bon appetite."

John nodded and pulled his hand away, "Likewise," he said, smiling fondly at Sherlock. He was glad the man was eating, he could use it. The pasta was very good, the wine a good choice, and Sherlock turned out to be very chatty again. John loved it.

During dinner, Sherlock kept off the topic of John's military service and instead conversed with him on every other subject. They spoke about everything from books to advances in science before they were interrupted by a young woman who came over to John, nodding at the small dance floor off to the corner where a band was playing, wondering if he would like a dance.

John smiled and bit his lip. She was really attractive, with full lips, shiny eyes, blond curly hair - exactly his type. He glanced at Sherlock and asked, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Sherlock lied, with a convincingly encouraging smile, as he sat back and allowed the two to walk off together. As soon as they were gone, he got out his phone, looking up updates and checking his messages to keep tabs on a case he was following in the media and wanted to take on.

John held the woman in his arms, who appeared to be called Mary Morstan, and who was a nurse at Bart's. They danced to some upbeat songs, which allowed John to twirl her around a couple of times. He laughed, and caught her when she was a bit dizzy, and grinned when she held his upper arms. Oh, was she pretty.

Half way through, Sherlock got a text from Lestrade telling him that he was needed. He looked over at John, and was about to invite him to either come - or stay himself - but he just seemed to be so happy. Infuriatingly happy with that idiotic girl. And those two factors - John's happiness and Sherlock's own annoyance - made the decision for him. He quickly scribbled a note for John, telling him that he had covered the bill and didn't know when he would be back at the flat. After some persuasion, he forcibly paid Angelo for the meal, told him that the dessert could be given to John, and simply left the establishment, his food and drink largely untouched.

John looked up after that song, and frowned sadly when he saw Sherlock leave the restaurant. Probably on a case, then, there was no other reason why Sherlock would just... leave. He sighed and looked back at Mary, who smiled up at him. "Your friend's gone home," she said, "Want to drink something at my place?"

Meanwhile, Sherlock sent John a text.

_John,_

_Change of plans. Will be home tonight. Notify me if you need me to stay out of the flat. - SH_

John smiled down at Mary's face, stroking her cheek with a rough index finger. "Sure. Drinks sound just fine." He accompanied his words with a big grin, leaving no room to guess what he meant.

When Sherlock received no reply, he swallowed thickly. This was so unfair. It was meant to be _their _reunion after six months apart. Maybe Mycroft was right – he should stop worrying and caring for John. Clearly, the soldier was not interested, and could take care of himself.

John arrived back at 221B rather late. Or early, it depended. He had had a good time, really, although now that he walked home, he wondered why Sherlock had just left. He didn't even ask if John had wanted to join him before he left. It was unfair, John thought when he stuck the key in the door.

Sherlock, still hurt by the fact that John had not answered his texts in all this time, was working the case on-location and realised that he was far too upset to go back to the flat. Maybe John was still with that girl, and the longer the flat was empty, the longer he would brood. So instead, he did what he did best. He holed up in a hotel close to the crime scene and shut himself off from everything but the case.

When John reached the living room, he was slightly disappointed to find it empty. He reached for his phone and only then saw the texts.

Sorry for not responding earlier, I only read them just now. How's the case? Need some help like the old days? JW

Sherlock read the text right away, but out of dignity, waited a full hour before he responded. A wasted hour. All John's fault.

_No thank you, John. Like you say, they were 'old' days. I'm surprised you're back so early. Unfortunately the scene is quite a distance away, and I wouldn't want you to miss seeing her again tonight on my account. - SH_

John frowned and texted back, _You're being a prick again, Sherlock. I'll talk to you tomorrow. JW_

_I'm being the prick? Typical. Everyone blames me for everything. Everyone gets bored of me. Shouldn't expect you to be any different. SH_

What the..!? John stared at his phone, half of a mind to call.

You are the one who just walked out on our night together, Sherlock, not me. JW

_I wasn't the one who left my friend after seeing them for the first time in six months to go dance with some idiot. SH_

What is wrong with you!? JW

John was practically bristling. He had asked permission for heaven's sake!

I asked if it were alright, Sherlock, and you nodded, and then left! JW

_What was I supposed to say? 'No John, you deserve better than her, and it was very rude of her to interrupt our conversation, and since you say we're 'friends' you should have the courtesy of declining? You'd be livid with me for losing your…whatever she is to you. SH_

You never lied to me before, Sherlock. I thought that you, knowing how much I like dancing, would have been happy for me to find a dance partner. And now this…? You know, shove it. I'm off to sleep. JW

_Goodnight. SH_

It was all emotions' fault. Stupid, meddling emotions. He shouldn't /care/ that John didn't like him, it shouldn't /hurt/ that he'd rather spend the night with some stranger than have dinner with Sherlock. But he did.

The next morning, John awoke, and it left him staring at the ceiling, determining what had gone wrong the day before. Sherlock was right, up to a point. They could talk about this and make it better, ye

s. So, with new hope, John left his bedroom and trotted down the stairs.

Sherlock was sitting at his microscope, doing an experiment. Mrs Hudson was already up and had made them both breakfast, consisting of eggs, bacon, mushrooms and toast. Sherlock's, of course, was completely untouched.

"Morning," John mumbled, sitting down at the kitchen table. He cleared his throat and tapped a random rhythm on the table top. "What's the experiment?"

"Study in fingernail deterioration. For the case." Sherlock answered tersely, scribbling something down on a piece of paper.

John nodded, and grabbed his fork to pick at his breakfast. "Why were you so angry with me yesterday?" he suddenly asked.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said softly in reply, "it was my fault. I didn't mean it and I take back everything I said. You're an adult and can do whatever you want and I have no right to criticise your decisions."

"Okay," John said slowly, putting his fork down. "But that wasn't what I asked. "/Why/ were you so angry?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Dunno." _Sentiment, John._

John sighed softly and gave up. "Fine. But you know, next time just be honest. You are my best friend, yes? Perhaps I'll just dance with you." He winked and smirked. "Now, eat your breakfast."

Sherlock lightened up a little, but pouted, "I'm not hungry. Mrs Hudson has to stop doing…" he waved pointedly at the plate meant for him, "that."

John narrowed his eyes. "You smiled when I mentioned the dancing. Why? Do you suddenly feel like it?"

Sherlock huffed at the cross-interrogation. "No. I smiled because you winked. Made me think of when we first met."

John smirked and winked, tucking in as well. Things were once again back to normal.

"I suppose you can join me in seeing the case closed," Sherlock said thoughtfully, sipping his tea, "I'll fill you in on the details during the drive to the Yard."

John nodded happily. "Yes, I'd love that," he said, grinning. "Good."

Sherlock was about to reply when his phone rang, and he answered it, sighing.  
"…Yes Angelo, good morning. I…no, no I'm fine, everything's alright, stop fussing. No, I am not upset! You're as bad as my landlady. I…doubt he wants to, actually. Thank you for the concern, though. Yes…bye." He hurriedly hung up, going back to his food.

Amused, John watched his friend. "What did Angelo ask?" He asked casually, smearing jam on his toast.

"Apparently he noticed what happened last night, and wondered whether or not we wanted to replan the dinner for tonight, or whether he should set me up with someone else since 'my boyfriend had cruelly deserted me for someone else'." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

John sighed deeply, and shook his head. "I didn't. It's just a dance."

"I know. Angelo likes to be dramatic. Anyhow, I informed him that you wouldn't want to go anyway."

John looked up at that. "Oh, no. Don't be like that. We are going out tonight, and we are dancing. That isn't negotiable, Sherlock."

"Dancing? Us? But…why would you want to dance with me?" Sherlock looked honestly confused.

John smirked, and leaned back in his chair. "Because I like dancing, and you don't want me to dance with strangers. Dancing with you is the best solution, hm?"

Sherlock bit his lip awkwardly, "I doubt I'm as good as you, John."

John laughed heartily and stood up, placing his plate in the sink. "I don't care," he said, "We will have fun. Well, at least I will." He smirked and filled his cup with some more tea, as he leaned against the counter top.

Sherlock slowly continued to pick at his food, but allowed himself a smile eventually, "…Well. That sounds rather…interesting, I must admit. I'd love a dance with you."

"That's decided, then," John said, looking pleased. "Just promise me you won't stand on my toes too often."

"Promise," Sherlock laughed. He was actually a wonderful dancer and was secretly eager to prove it.

* * *

**Author's Note: SherlockedSherlockian**

What did you think? Observations? Deductions? Theories for the next chapter?

P.S. Hi everyone! Shout-out time as always! And if you want any comments from the lovely CowMow herself, please nag her, and I'm sure you'll get one! ^^  
Also, please stay tuned for the completion of my other two stories. When they are done, you're going to get a massive Reichenbach surprise! :D Another co-authored fic/roleplay I'm currently writing with Cherik221b, which is already almost 100,000 words in length. But who cares? We take our fandom seriously. So if you like a bit of angst, LOTS OF FLUFF (my trademark), puppies, babies and rose-hued romance, you won't be waiting long.

**I'm yours as always,**

**SherlockedSherlockian xxx**

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	7. He Wasn't Worth Your Life

John grinned and nodded, patted Sherlock's hand and disappeared upstairs to get washed, shaven and dressed. When he returned, he was wearing one of the new shirts Sherlock had bought him, as well as the watch, and wore tight jeans. "Ready?" he asked.

Sherlock smiled fondly as he looked him over, "You look lovely, John. Where did you want to go this early in the day?" he asked, grabbing his coat. "Sightseeing, was it?"

John grinned and nodded. "Well, yes, but didn't you want to go to the Yard first?" He grabbed his own leather jacket and slipped his hands in the sleeves.

"Might be a bit early, but sure. We can knock Greg up if he's not awake already. Let's go."

John zipped his jacket up and grinned. "Sure. Shall we go on foot? I don't mind walking. Actually, I'd love to. If that's okay with you?"

"Totally fine with me, John. S'not that far, and you might as well enjoy the air, hm?" Sherlock grinned, jogging down the stairs to the door.

"Exactly," John said, smirking as he followed Sherlock slightly slower. "Though you don't have to show off, Lockie, if we go running I will win."

"Keep telling yourself that, John," Sherlock winked, holding the door open for him. "No one's ever beaten me when I have the right motivation."

John narrowed his eyes. "Okay... shall we run to the Yard? The one to arrive last buys dinner." He grinned.

"You know you'll lose, so you just want me to fail on purpose, don't you?" Even so, Sherlock shot off. Even if John had military training, Sherlock had his cases – and longer legs.

John laughed and began to run too. Sherlock may have longer legs, John was smaller and could slip past the other pedestrians more easily. He grinned, exhilarated and giddy. His strides were even and smooth, and he felt his breathing speed up just a bit. He focused on the back of Sherlock's head and sped up, pushing his body to the limits. He heard the shouts from offended passers-by, but he didn't care, he wanted to win.

Sherlock wove his way through the others, but found a bit more difficult. He didn't want to push people out of the way, as John would lecture him for it, so he did his best to fight the crowd.

John grinned as he rounded the corner, leaving Sherlock behind him. This part of the street was quiet, so he could speed up nicely. He heard Sherlock's footsteps behind him, and gritted his teeth. He had to win! And he did. He slammed his hand flat against the wall of the large building and doubled over, completely out of breath, tasting blood.

"Typical!" Sherlock grumbled, joining him and bending over too, trying to get his breath back. "You win, John. Are you alright?"

John raised a hand, still bent over. ""Ye-yeah," he panted, eyes squeezed shut. "A-am fi-fine."

"Sure?" he checked, giggling a little as he looked up, and straightened, panting much less by now. "You look half-dead."

John pushed himself up, too, grinning a little at his friend. "Well, a bit," he mumbled, pressing a hand to his stomach. "Though I did win."

"There is that," Sherlock murmured, nodding and quirking an eyebrow, "but now we're here…beat you to Lestrade's office…!" winking, he dashed off again through the building.

John laughed and decided to let Sherlock have that victory. Slower, he got inside, taking the lift.

Sherlock was already fluttering about Lestrade's office, presenting diagrams and explaining the last case. All they had left now was to bring in the killer.

John grinned a bit when a kind, dark-skinned woman brought him over to Lestrade's office. He grinned at Sherlock and then looked at the DI. "Good morning," he said pleasantly. "I'm John, Sherlock's friend."

"John Watson," Greg rolled his eyes, shaking his hand warmly, "I do remember you from your teen years, you know," he winked. "You've not aged that much!"

John laughed, a bit embarrassed. "Of course, sorry, sir." He shrugged. "I'm just used to introducing myself. And, is my dear friend here helping?"

Lestrade nodded with a grin. "Very much so. And don't apologise – it's nothing! Call me Greg."

John smiled and nodded. "Okay, sir. I mean, Greg." He chuckled and then looked at Sherlock. "So, case closed?"

"Almost, we've just got to go bag our criminal. Thought it would be funny to nick returned officers' rifles and sell them off at a higher price. I've located him, though – but he might try and make a run for it, so we've got to get down to his residence quickly." He looked meaningfully at Lestrade, who obediently grabbed his coat and doughnut.

John followed the other two, not sure what was going on, but planning on being there anyway. "Right. So, is he dangerous?"

"Reasonably, if armed. You have questions?" he added the question casually as they hopped into a cab.

John blinked and followed his friend inside the car. "Erm, what has happened?" he asked, "Some nutter stole... guns?"

"A group of returned officers from military services – most whom were over sixty, and had been issued with rifles – came into the yard complaining about their guns have being robbed. One of them had even walked in on the thief and was shot with his own rifle. When called to the scene of the crime, I noticed that the floor of the dead man's home – a residence which was quite neat – was dusty in some areas. I then analysed the dust to locate where the perpetrator had last been."

John grinned widely. "Brilliant. And where had he been?" He sat up a bit straighter and grinned at his friend.

Sherlock chuckled. "I traced him to a park, and then from the park to a diner. From the diner, I obtained his details, as he was a regular – and we're just going to pick him up now."

John grinned proudly. "Amazing. Seriously, Sherlock, you keep surprising me." He patted his friend's thigh and looked up into his eyes, still smiling. "But we have to be careful? He already shot someone..."

Sherlock blushed a little, and nodded, "Yes…a little careful…" he agreed, smiling at the hand on his thigh. He put his own over it. John's phone, meanwhile, beeped with a text.

_Hi John – it's Mary here. Do you want to meet again tonight? xx _

John slipped his hand from under Sherlock's and took his phone from his pockets.

Ah. Mary.

Hey Mary. Sorry, tonight I'm spoken for by my best friend. How about tomorrow? J

Oh…tonight would have been much more convenient…I'm working tomorrow night, but I suppose if you really can't…sure. M

Ah, sorry. Tonight I really can't come. I am in London for two weeks... J

Tomorrow's fine, then. M

Excellent. It's a date, then. Shall I pick you up? J

That would be very romantic indeed, Captain. M ;)

John laughed and shook his head. Oh, she was amazing. So funny, kind, beautiful...

Want me to wear my uniform, miss? J

Ooh would you?! I suppose it'd only be fair, since I'll still be in my nurse's… M

Kinky, Miss Nurse. ;-) Shall I bring food? We won't have to…leave the house. J

Sure. Unless you'd like to try my cooking? M

Oh, of course. You can cook, hon, I'll bring the booze. And dessert. J

John smirked again and then looked up at Sherlock. "Almost there, Lock?"

Sounds like a plan, Captain. Xx M

Just as the cab stopped outside a small residence ahead of the police cars, Sherlock woke from his dismal, far-off stare out the window, coming back to Earth. "Oh…uh…yeah…we're here, actually." He paid the cabbie and hopped out, leaving the door open for John. Silently, the police cars drew up behind. Sherlock instructed John to wait with Lestrade outside until he gave the signal, so that the DI and John were not the first inside and therefore ran a lesser risk of being hurt.

John stuffed his phone back in his pocket and waited with Lestrade, but then decided to go after Sherlock anyway. What if his best friend got hurt?

But Sherlock, wisely, had locked the door behind himself discreetly when shown in by the currently unsuspecting murderer and thief. They sat and talked for a while, before Sherlock revealed who he was. The man panicked and reached for the closest gun, but Sherlock was faster and had him handcuffed on the ground in a split second. However, in the scuffle, the gun went off and shattered a nearby vase.

John's eyes widened in horror, and he threw his shoulder hard against the door, until the bloody lock gave way. "Sherlock!" He screamed, running inside, followed by Lestrade and Sally. "Sherlock!"

Then brunette, who was busy gagging his foul-mouthed captive, looked up in surprise, "John...calm down, I'm fine...what's wrong?" he asked, "I said I'd give the signal when you guys could come in..."

"Oh, for.. fuck's sake!" John snapped. "We heard a shot, you idiot! You could have gotten hurt!"

Sherlock went to reply, but Lestrade cut him off. "Remember what happened last time, Sherlock."  
The young detective scowled and got up, handing the man over to Sally. Ignoring Lestrade, he went over to John. "Is your shoulder okay?"

John stared at Sherlock and the DI. "What happened last time?" he asked sharply. "Did you do something equally stupid?"

"Sherlock got shot."  
"It was just a graze, Lestrade! There aren't any marks."  
"Same thing. One of the guys we were hunting down jumped off a moving train to escape us, and he was armed. Sherlock decided it would be a brilliant idea to jump after him."  
"You ungrateful sod! We caught the kill-"  
"He wasn't worth your life!"  
"My life is worth nothing!"

Silence fell as both detectives stared each other down, Sherlock looking away and storming out – secretly embarrassed with the slip. Lestrade stared after him in shock, and even Sally looked a little subdued as she followed him out with the captive.

John stared at Sherlock, as the DI fell silent too. "Say that again?" John asked quietly.

"He said that his life was worth nothing." Lestrade mumbled in answer for the now empty spot John was staring at. Suddenly, something snapped and the DI ran after Sherlock, grabbing his arm. "Sherlock Holmes!"  
"You have your killer. You have no further need of me."  
"Do you really think that's what I see you as? Some paid consultant I just get in to do my dirty work for me?"  
"That's what everyone sees me as."  
"No they don't, Sherlock! Why can't you just see that?! For /once/ in your life won't you just open your eyes and see things as they are?! I'm your friend! How do you know I would've just dismissed you! I actually wanted to ask if you'd like to – "  
"I would not." He went to the curb to hail a cab.

John followed the two of them outside, joining Sherlock's side. He looked up at the friend he loved so dearly, who thought so little of himself.

And now he knew there was something wrong here. Sherlock was not behaving like his cheery self. They needed to talk. More accurately, Sherlock needed to talk. He opened the door for Sherlock and looked at him. "Home," he simply said.

When they arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock unlocked the door, letting John in ahead of him.

John turned back as soon as the both of them were inside. John finally let his worry show. "Why, Sherlock?" He asked. "Why would you say something like that?"

Sherlock groaned in frustration, too tired for this. "Because it's true! And don't you dare say it's not, because no one thinks differently apart from you! I didn't get so excited about you coming home because I thought you were going to spend the fortnight with your girlfriend and the remainder of the time counselling me!"

John stared at Sherlock and shook his head, stepping closer. "Is that it?" he asked, "Is that why you are so…down? Because I want to spend time with someone who might be able love me?"

"No, it's not, and I am fine. Absolutely fine, so why can't you and Greg just shove off and stop probing and prodding like I'm some sort of puzzle you're trying to piece together?!" They were interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh before he went down the stairs to wrench the door open. "What is it?!" On the other side stood a dark-haired man, pale and a bit shorter than Sherlock. He wore a grey t-shirt and tight black skinny jeans, and his hair was slightly mussed up. "Hey," he smiled winningly, "I'm here about that gas leak…"  
"Gas leak? We have no gas leak here. Trust me. I'd be the first to know, I'm the only one who lives here."

"Really? Oh what a shame. The place could do with some filling up." He grinned, walking past him. "I believe it was your landlady who called. My name's Jim." He took Sherlock's hand and shook it. Sherlock smirked in amusement. "How…common. Sherlock Holmes."  
"Oh, the name might be common – but I'd hope that I'm certainly not." He looked to John and simply nodded, walking by him with disinterest to the kitchen. Sherlock followed, hands behind his back, while he wondered what the man really wanted.

John stared at the man, not having a very good feeling about this. "Sherlock, can we please...talk?" He asked, walking after him.

"In a moment, John. I'm sure it can wait."  
"Aww, boyfriend troubles?" Jim chuckled fondly, "I don't mind waiting, if you two – "  
"He's not my boyfriend!" Sherlock snapped.  
The other shut up for a bit, before muttering, "Calm your farm, I was just kidding. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. But between us, you didn't sleep last night, did you? What's worrying you?"  
Sherlock gazed at him with an icy stare that soon changed to slight intrigue. "You…observed that?"

"Most certainly," Jim smiled smugly as he fiddled aimlessly with the pipes. "Now do answer my question. I love a spot of gossip and I never get clients as gorgeous as you."  
The detective grinned slightly. "Turning to flattery, are we?"  
"When all else fails, as they say." He pulled back from the pipes with a sigh. "Nup. You're right. No leaks there. Must've been 221/A/ I was called to – how in the world did I mix it up?" he over-dramatically slapped his forehead, before pulling a card out of the pocket of his jeans. "It's so disappointing that I couldn't…be of service to you. But if you ever /do/ need my assistance, just call," he winked, "I see you have /chemicals/ around…never know when you might need to get a leak fixed…"

John scowled at Jim. Jim was flirting with his friend. No one flirted with Sherlock Holmes. But Sherlock seemed quite…happy with the attention. John huffed and disappeared upstairs.

Sherlock thanked Jim for his number and saw him to the door, watching him walk out. The shorter man smiled and waved coyly, and Sherlock simply nodded in acknowledgement before closing the door. Definitely amusing, that man. But he could consider him later. Making two cups of tea in the kitchen, the brunette carried the mugs upstairs and knocked on John's bedroom door.

* * *

**Author's Note: SherlockedSherlockian**

ANGST. Sorry to do this to you! But it probably won't turn out the way you think... ;)

Shout-outs:

CowMow cyria Starlight05 CompassionAndCaring Edge of the elahe (guest) MouraMoura SpencerReidFan89 FantasyDreamer23 Moonlitorion FearTheTrumpets lizalou262 Noxlupis Lamiamedicus johnsarmylady shonny girl briddle.2012 Serenityofthematrix Lindariddle

**Yours,**

**SherlockedSherlockian xxx**


	8. I Have Never Regretted This

John lay on his back, arms folded under his head. "Yes, Sherlock, what is it?" He called, staring at the ceiling.

"I brought tea?" he asked meekly. "An apology for yelling at you?"

John sat up, making room for Sherlock on his bed. "Well, that's fine. Though I wished you would just tell me what's bothering you, Lockie." He shrugged a bit. "I'm your friend, remember? And you are mine. My best friend."

Sherlock sat down, giving John one of the mugs and hesitating before sitting down on the edge. "It's nothing, John. Nothing…nothing you can change." He took a sip of his tea, focusing on the mug. "I'm sorry if I'm different. I don't mean to be touchy."

John sipped his tea and gazed at his friend. "That's alright, I'm not angry, just worried. You can talk to me, you know."

Sherlock caved, biting his lower lip and staring at his feet. "I'm thinking of dropping out of Uni."

John's eyes widened, but he managed to keep his voice even. "Okay. Erm…why would you do that?"

"Because everyone there hates me."

"Sherlock..." John fully faced his friend, and gently held his beautiful face in his calloused hands. "Why did you never tell me before?" His thumbs rubbed his cheekbones, ever so gently.

There was a time when Sherlock would have loved John's gentle touch, and enjoyed it, but now – knowing it was given to dozens of other women – he no longer felt special when the young soldier was so gentle with him. He averted his gaze, "What were you ever going to do about it, half way across the world?" He sighed a bit. "That's why they offered me the extra degree in return for my help. They've used my services, now even the professors are done with me. They reckon if I take more classes, I'll meet more people who hate me, finally take the hint…and leave. And I think I should."

John's hands slipped from his face until they rested on two bony shoulders. What had happened to make Sherlock this gloomy and sad? He sighed softly and gave the younger man a soft shake. "Hey, Sherlock, I am your friend, and that means that when I ask how you are, I want the truth, however horrible that may be." He smiled a little, sadly. "I am sorry they hate you, but not everyone does."

"Yeah they do," he mumbled. "It wasn't so bad in the first year. But they when our exam results started coming back, that's when it all began. And when they pestered me, they didn't expect me to retaliate or defend myself by saying something back. But I couldn't help it. And now even the teachers all which I left. No one would care if I did, so I might as well. You might be my friend, but you're barely ever here. You can't help. So what's the point in making you worried to no end?"

John sighed softly and gently squeezed his shoulders, and then pulled him in for a hug. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. Sometimes... sometimes I regret my choices of joining the army, especially when it comes to you." He smiled a bit tightly. "I wish I was there for you more often, to show that I really am your friend."

"Don't say that," he whispered, wrapping his arms around John tightly and sighing. "What you did was right for you. You're happy. And my life leaves a bad imprint on yours – if I told you what really goes on here, you'd just be upset. Maybe…maybe we should go our separate ways after this fortnight passes. For good."

John shook his head and held Sherlock close. "No, Sherlock, please," he whispered in the other man's neck. "Please, tell me what's going on, Lockie. We have been friends for so long, what could possibly push me away from you?"

"Me." Sherlock responded. "The fact that I'm so hopeless at anything but my work. There was an incident…about four months ago. Something that happened on the campus. I was on and off drugs for a month after that, then I stopped taking them completely, but I didn't go back to university for a week. I still remember walking into class again, and everyone's shocked and disappointed faces because they thought I'd gone for good." He teared up a little, biting his lower lip.

John's heart clenched and he held Sherlock even tighter. "I could have lost you," he whispered. "Sherlock... I could have lost you." He swallowed with enormous difficulty and pulled away to firmly press his lips to Sherlock's forehead. "What happened to make you do drugs?"

Sherlock bit his lip, stomach flipping over. "It was nothing major, actually. Just a prank on their part…I overreacted."

John frowned. "Tell me, please."

"I…" looked away again, "I was sitting under a tree one lunch time, just doing my own work, and…and a group of the other students came up and…" he trailed off. "Do you really want to hear this? It doesn't matter anymore."

John's stomach twisted and he felt nauseous. "What did they do?" he asked rather breathlessly. "I do want to hear, Sherlock."

"They asked me what brand underwear I wear, and when I told them it didn't matter to them, they decided they'd find out for themselves…"

Horrified, John sat up, his eyes wide and dark. "They did what?"

"Whatever they wanted with me, I suppose." Sherlock mumbled. "I went to see a couple of the teaching staff, and they just told me to grow up because it wasn't primary school and to leave if I couldn't hold it together and forget about it."

John gritted his teeth, already planning to talk to exactly those people. But first... "Did they…violate you?" he asked carefully, once more gently holding his best friend.

Sherlock moved out of his grasp. "I…no, no of course not. They – uhm – wouldn't go that far." Finishing his tea, he stood up. "I have to uh…do some work. I'll let you get some rest now."

John got up too, and grabbed his friend by his upper arms before he could leave. He stood close to Sherlock, his face open and even loving. "Sherlock? You... you can tell me anything, yes? You are…you are the most important human being to me, and I can't…can't stand this, seeing you like this."

Sherlock looked into his eyes, stormy gaze piercing into cobalt blue. "I'm alright," he promised, "I'm really okay. I'll be finishing at the end of this year. It's just six more months. I don't want you to worry. I wish you wouldn't – it doesn't solve anything and it makes you upset. I just want you to be happy, whatever you do and wherever you are."

John shook his head, stepping closer. "How can I be happy if you are not?"

"Only if you stop being friends with me," the other said softly.

John shook his head and looked up at his best friend. "Never. You are the most important thing, Sherlock. I…I love you." He paled when he said those words, and his eyes widened. "I meant, as a…a friend, of, erm…of course."

A tiny sparkle had appeared in Sherlock's eyes at those three words, but it quickly faded when John looked so regretful for them. "Of course. I'll be happier, then. Promise. Uhm…do you want to go somewhere for lunch, maybe? You must be hungry?"

John cleared his throat and then nodded. "Yeah, lunch. And a sightseeing tour through London. You promised." He managed a tight smile and smoothed his shirt down.

"Of course!" Sherlock said, cheering up. "They have some new exhibitions at the museum, I'm sure you'll like them, some are actually military-inspired. I'll get my coat."

"Brilliant! Yes!" John nodded and got up to get his shoes and coat, too. "That sounds perfect." He grinned brightly as his friend moved down the stairs, and soon followed him, eager to go out - with Sherlock. The man he had a crush on ever since he went into the military and he realised that he missed him more than a normal friend would. He shook the feeling off and was once more his cheery self. Sherlock would never return those feelings, let alone for him..

Sherlock's demeanour, now that he had got the real situation off his chest, was more playful and bright. As they walked out into the busy London streets, he asked, "Where to first? My only suggestion is that we should save the Eye till tonight – it looks so much better all lit up."

John grinned and nodded. "Eyes normally do," he replied, smirking, refering to that one time when Sherlock had set some experiment with eyes on fire. He chuckled. "Can we get some fish and chips? I haven't had that in ages."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, playfully pinching John's shoulder. They turned down a smaller London street to a row of small shops, cafés and delis. "If you ever want me to send anything over to your camp, you know I'd be happy to, right? I mean, I obviously can't send most foods, because they'd go off, but if there's anything else you miss…" Sherlock offered, opening the door to a cosy little café.

John stepped inside and sat down at a table in the far back. "I know," he said, "Thank you. I will keep it in mind." He smiled at his friend and patted his hand. "Do you want anything?" he asked, glancing at the menu.

Sherlock was about to reply with his usual 'I'm not hungry', but seeing as though he hadn't eaten in weeks and he had not ended up having dinner the previous time that John had gone off with Mary, he knew John would only lecture him. "I'll order something," he responded with a smile, "maybe the baked potato, I'm partial to theirs."  
"Sherls!" came a happy voice as the shop owner, a middle-aged woman with dancing green eyes, walked over to give Sherlock a hug. "It's been over a month! Have you been looking after yourself?"  
"Yes, Mrs MacPherson, I certainly have," Sherlock lied with one of his sweetest smiles as he returned the hug, which made her totally melt. "Good boy! I'll be calling that lovely landlady of yours up to make sure you continue with that." The woman turned to John with a warm smile, "And who might you be?"

John gave the two of them a bright grin, and offered the lady his hand. "I'm John Watson, ma'am. Sherlock's friend. I'm on leave now, so I'm indulging in English food." He smiled and looked at ease.

"On leave? Whatever do you do?" she asked, looking him over with a grin as she shook his hand, "I'd say some sort of physical work? Navy, maybe?"

John laughed softly. "Not the navy, but the Army. I'm stationed in Afghanistan. You were close, though. I just can't stand to be locked up on a ship."

She chuckled, "Can understand that. Now, boys, what can I get you?"

John smiled at the kind lady and sat down again. "Fish and chips for me please, with mashed peas, if you have them."

Sherlock ordered some baked potato, and the lady asked them what drinks they wanted.

John decided on a coke, and once Sherlock had ordered the lady left them. John sat back in his chair and glanced around at the cafe. "Nice place," he said, "I've never been here before."

"Definitely cosy, but not as good as Angelo's. I've only been once or twice before, I must admit," he smiled, "I ran an errand for Mrs MacPherson once. Looked into one of her son's girlfriends for her." They were interrupted by a waiter bringing their drinks - a waiter with short dark hair and jeans, who happened to be grinning at Sherlock. "Fancy us meeting again!"  
Sherlock looked up in surprise, "Jim." He extended his hand, and the man shook it warmly.  
"You didn't /really/ think I was a gas-pipe fixer, did you?"  
"You couldn't have fixed a leak to save your life."  
"Don't bet on it." He grinned at him, "Saw you at your Uni last week. James Moriarty? He's my brother. Have no idea why he went into teaching mathematics - wants me to follow in his footsteps, but I have other plans."  
"Oh?"  
"They're irrelevant - for the moment. Anyway, saw you conversing with one of the other teachers, and you looked cute. My brother got me your address."  
"Against-"  
"Against the rules, I know, I know, but take him to court and it's your word against mine." He turned to John with a forced smile, looking rather condescending, "Oh - it's you again."

John disliked Jim. He disliked him very, very much. He was too cheery, too smooth - and he was flirting with Sherlock. But the worst part was that Sherlock almost flirted back. Sherlock didn't do romance, he told John so himself. Yet here the man was - flirting. John managed a smile. "Yes, me again." He offered his hand. "John Watson."

He shook it like it was some kind of bacteria-infested item. "Jim, but you already know that." He turned back to Sherlock. "I'll be right back with your order, handsome." He winked playfully and swaggered off. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but didn't respond.

"Well, lucky you," John mumbled, curling his hand tightly around his cool glass.

"Lucky, me? Why?" he asked, looking back at him with curiosity.

John scoffed at him. "You are kidding me, Sherlock. That chap is all over you. One grin from you and you'll get laid."

Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what that meant, and decided it was better not to ask. "Why would that make me lucky?" He took a sip from his lemonade, turning his gaze out the window to analyse the passing people.

John raised one eyebrow. "Why wouldn't it? Sex usually makes people happy."

It was Sherlock's turn to scoff. "Most people, John. /Most/ people." Upon his word, Jim returned a moment later with their orders, tossing John's down carelessly so that he could delicately place Sherlock's in front of him, with his most charming smile. "Now that you know I work here, why don't you come visit one day?" he asked sweetly, "You know…when you're /free/?" he shot John a brief glance of distaste. "My lunchtimes are quite flexible. I'd be happy to take it early or late to join you…"  
"I already frequent the venue, so it is possible that I might drop by on my own, but it would hardly be necessary for you to – "  
"On the contrary, it would be an honour! I'll look forward to it. Enjoy your meal, and if there's /anything/ you need, just call." He squeezed his shoulder before striding off again, leaving Sherlock to frown and straighten out his jacket.

John glared at the waiter and stared down at his plate, picking up his fork. He didn't want Sherlock to go out with that idiot. He began to eat almost angrily.

Sherlock was totally oblivious to the exchange between Jim and John, and happily settled down to his food, "So, the museum after this, yes? Where did you want to go after that? They're currently doing tour-cruises down the Thames, or we could go for a walk over London Bridge…"

John hummed a bit, still angry at Jim. He knew exactly why he was angry, of course. Sherlock was his friend, no that stupid Jim's. And Sherlock didn't even know he was being flirted with. "Yeah, museum is nice," he mumbled, "And a walk. I don't like boats."

Sherlock leaned forward with concern, touching his hand tenderly. "John...is everything okay? You're really out of it."

John jerked up, his hand twitching under Sherlock's. He felt as if he were on fire. "I'm…I'm fine," he managed, forcing himself to look into Sherlock's eyes and not lower. It wouldn't do to push everything out in the open now. He valued his friendship with Sherlock too highly. "I'm good."

Sherlock smiled comfortingly at him, gaze softer. "If you're sure, Johnny," he chuckled softly, giving his hand a squeeze, "but seriously, if /anything/ is /ever/ troubling you, just talk to me. You know I'd do everything and anything in my power to help."

John's face softened, and he smiled a little. "Yes, I know, Lockie. Thank you." He squeezed Sherlock's slender hand in return. "And the feeling is mutual." /If only.../

Sherlock returned to his food with a nod, but kept his hand interlocked with John's.

And when John stared at their hands at the table, he knew that Sherlock was the only one for him. He hadn't known for sure, but all he wanted was to be with Sherlock for ever, help him through his Uni, his bad days, hold him... kiss him. He sighed and felt his heart ache in longing. Sherlock would never want him as more than a friend. He cleared his throat and went back to his food. He was a soldier, and soldier on he would.

Sherlock smiled sweetly at him. They spent the rest of the meal in comfortable silence, and when they finished, Sherlock went and paid and said his goodbyes to the owner. He returned to John's side. "Shall we go?" he asked with a happy smile.

John nodded and briefly pressed his hand protectively against the small of Sherlock's back when he steered him past Jim.

Even though Sherlock didn't quite catch the meaning of the gesture, he liked it, and grinned down at John playfully. "You've gone quiet."

John smiled back and said, "I know. Just enjoying this, I think. I don't always need to talk. Unless you want me to, that is." He grinned and opened the door for him. "After you, Lockie."

Sherlock nodded his thanks, "You're right, y'know," he whispered, beaming down at him. "Thank you for agreeing to spend the day with me."

My life, if only you ask, John couldn't help but think wistfully. He smiled, though, and nodded. "And you with me." Together, they walked to the museum, enjoying their London.

This time, Sherlock held the door open for John, letting him walk in first. He watched him smile his thanks, and he felt himself melting again. Why couldn't he do it? Why couldn't he just resign himself to the fact that John was straight, and give up on his hopes? They had known each other so long, they had spent pretty much all their lives together…and then John /had/ to go and join the army, hadn't he? He bit his lip, following behind his friend.

The museum turned out to be quite perfect. Sherlock was in charge of the little booklet, meaning he read everything out loud. John thought it was all brilliant, and often had to laugh at Sherlock's face. Yes, it was quite pleasant. As was the walk past the Thames, where their hands brushed each other now and then.

By the time they were done, it was early evening. The young detective turned to his friend with a smile. "Did you have a pleasant day?" he asked, "So far, anyhow?"

John stretched his legs, feet scraping at the gravel. They were sat on a bench on the eastbank of the Thames. "Yes, it has been great, /so far/," John replied, grinning. "What else have you planned?"

"We still have dinner and the Eye to go, if you're feeling up to it," he reminded him, leaning back against the bench.

John turned his head and looked at Sherlock. "Of course, Sherlock. Always." He winked cheekily and sighed happily. "I love London."

The other grinned, leaning lightly against him. "Mm. Same here. Do you plan on eventually retiring here?" he asked, turning to meet his gaze.

John curled an arm around Sherlock's shoulders and nodded. "Yes, as soon as I have finished my degree, and the army will let me go."

"Twenty or thirty years in the future, you mean," Sherlock laughed lightly, but there was a sad undertone. He smiled at him, "You make a good solider. You always were caring and helpful, easily adapting to change and being resilient."

John gave Sherlock a soft smile and shook his head. "Sooner, I think, truly. Five, six years. And you are right. I don't know if I am a good soldier, but... apart from missing London, I have never regretted this."

He nodded slowly. "Why do you think they'll let you go that early? You're only in your twenties. Aren't some of your superiors in their late forties to early fifties?"

John licked his lips. "I am almost done with the education, so I have to serve them a few years and then I can go home. To you." He looked up at Sherlock. And right there, he just wanted to kiss him, feel so close to that wonderful man. He didn't. He just…couldn't force himself on his best friend like that, so he looked away again. "It will pass, too."

_Painfully, _Sherlock thought to himself, but smiled, heart skipping a beat at his comment. "Hope so. Until then, I'll be right here missing you, all by myself," he chuckled, drawing a lazy pattern on the other's knee. "I never thought it would be like this, you know, when you said you wanted to be a doctor." John was so amazing, so perfect, and he knew Sherlock better than anybody else did. If only they could – no. No, that would never be. John was a straight, attractive soldier. He deserved better – to settle down with someone who meant something to him, and somebody he loved.

* * *

**Author's Note: SherlockedSherlockian**

Hey everyone!

Thank you for your lovely reviews, and a special thank you to **Cherik221b, Serenityofthematrix and Starlight05**! Lovely readers make happy writers! Note to my readers in response to your queries: PM me anytime you'd like! ;) Communication is cool!

I'd love to roleplay/co-author a fanfic!

This chapter's shout-outs:

Cherik221B (All my love!) Starlight05 (This chapter is dedicated to you. The Fandom Medal for summing up all your feels to the story in a review! Love you! Xx) CowMow ( :) ) johnsarmylady (Hi!) Serenityofthematrix (THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS! x) My Sergeant Told Me (Glad you're enjoying this fic!) SpencerReidFan89 (Hi!) Noxlupis Lamiamedicus (Thank you so much!) MouraMoura (You're awesome 3) Sparkie98 (Hello!) outofcornflakes (love the username ;) )

Yours Always,

SherlockedSherlockian xxx


	9. He's Not Interested

John sighed deeply, happily, and patted his friend's knee. After a while, John said, "Dinner?" They got up and had an undisturbed dinner at Angelo's - even Sherlock ate - and afterwards John smirked. "Dance, Lockie?"

Sherlock set down his glass, glancing over to the couples on the floor. "You really meant it, didn't you?" he huffed, but couldn't hide his smile, "Do you want to lead or follow, little soldier?"

John narrowed his eyes. "I'm not little," he protested, but he got up and offered his hand. "I'll follow, that's what I do best after all." He grinned.

Sherlock laughed sweetly but genuinely at that, and swept John into his arms on the small dance floor. "Any dance you are partial to?" he asked in his smooth voice, as he gazed down at him.

John grinned, trying to keep his soldier-cool now that he was so close to Sherlock, and shrugged. "You're leading, Lockie. I'll follow." He smirked and waited.

Sherlock listened for a quick moment before he picked up the beat and began dancing to it, leading John along. He had his arm wound protectively around the other's back as they danced, allowing himself to just submit to the music like he did while playing violin, rather than let himself think horrid thoughts about how John would rather be doing this with someone else.

John found it very easy to follow Sherlock's guidance, and almost leaned in to rest his cheek to Sherlock's shoulder. If it was possible to feel safe during a dance, then John definitely felt safe now. He sighed happily and then beamed up at Sherlock's face. "You are a liar," he said after a while with a fond voice.

"Mm? Why's that?" the detective whispered softly in his ear, drawing him in a little closer to his chest. He looked down at him expectantly, a smile lighting up his features.

"You said you couldn't dance," John explained softly, trying very hard not to stare at Sherlock's beautiful face. "But look at us."

"Had to learn when I was little," he explained, squeezing John's hand gently, "but what about you?"

"What about me? How I learned to dance?" John smirked. "Taught myself."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "You taught yourself well," he smirked back, "you're exceptionally good."

John chuckled. "Oh, shut up." He was spun around by Sherlock, though, and the chuckle turned into a giggle. "Oh, I love this! We should have done this way earlier."

"Your giggling is absolutely adorable," Sherlock grinned, pulling him back close to himself and moving him happily and securely in his arms.

John laughed softly and even pressed a little closer. "I will forgive you for now," John said, "But I am not adorable. I'm a tough army doctor-to-be, so be nice."

"Ooh, scary," Sherlock giggled playfully, squeezing his hand again, "wouldn't want to mess with you!"

John laughed and managed to dip Sherlock despite him not leading. He laughed heartily at Sherlock's face as he hauled him in again. "How was that, huh?"

A bit breathless, Sherlock responded proudly, "Don't make me do that to you!"

John laughed heartily at that, and held Sherlock closely against him when Angelo put on a slower song. "Oh, I'd like to see you try, just don't drop me!"

"Better when it's unexpected," Sherlock smirked, allowing John to wrap his arms around his neck while his own found their way around the soldier's waist. John felt so warm and perfect up against him like this, that he wished it would last forever.

John hummed softly and grinned at his friend. "Look at us slow dancing. We could win prizes." He smirked and playfully tugged on Sherlock's hair.

"You want to enter a contest?" he smirked playfully, squeezing the other's waist. "I would not be averse, I suppose, if we had to practice very often…" the hand in his hair made him hum happily as he winked at the other.

John shrugged. "I dunno. Perhaps when I get home for good?" He pressed a bit closer to Sherlock and smiled. "It'd be a nice hobby."

The brunette nodded in agreement, giving his neck a sweet little nuzzle. "You're exceptionally warm and cuddly for a soldier, John."

John shivered a little bit as soon as he felt those soft, perfect lips on the sensitive skin under his ear, and he stepped away. "I think so, perhaps," he said, stammering a little. "Erm…"

Thankfully for John, it was just about the time that the song was drawing to a close, and Sherlock smiled, "Shall we get our coats then? It's just about time we headed out."

John smirked a bit and together they walked back to get their coats. "That was fun…"

"Mmm, it was. Definitely doing that again. But only with you."

John smiled a bit tightly and nodded. "Yeah, of course." They left some money on the table for Angelo and left the restaurant. "You know, today has been fun," John told his friend when they walked towards the Eye.

"I agree." He said softly, "S'always nice to take a tourist touring."

"With one's best friend," John added, grinning up at his taller friend. He nudged him with his shoulder and steered him into an alley way for a short cut.

"Still remember what I taught you about London, then? If there's a way, there's a shortcut," he grinned back down at him.

John scoffed at his darling friend. "I always listen to what you say, Lockie. And remember, I do know London a bit, just not as well as you." He winked and pointed to the left. "There, for example, is an excellent ice cream shop.

"I begin," Sherlock grinned impishly, "to see your reasons for taking a 'shortcut' on this beautiful night, dear soldier," he remarked. "Memory sharp as always. You've been here how many times before?"

"Four," John admitted, smirking a little too. "But that doesn't matter. It has, however, always struck me as odd how one can buy ice cream in rainy London, but not in Afghanistan. Can't you send me some?"

"I probably can't send you ice cream in its usual state, John...unless I send it in a freezer pack...but I can very easily send you ice cream powder. All you need to do is add milk to it."

John's smile widened and he nodded gratefully. "That'd be brilliant, Lockie. Truly." He squeezed his friend's hand and steered the direction of the Eye. "Have you ever been in the Eye?'

"Several times, as a child," Sherlock responded with a smile, "I used to pretend I could see all the murders happening in London, and that I was some kind of superhero who could fly about and stop them all," he ended with a chuckle, sighing. "Too bad that you grow up and learn the bitter truth: that heroes don't exist and nothing you can ever do will stop people hurting others."

John smiled and rooted around in his pocket for enough money to get in. "I understand how you feel, but I think I have to disagree with you there, Lock."

Sherlock frowned curiously as he paid for his own ticket, and stood back with John to wait for the Eye to stop. "Oh? What for?"

John stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. "Sometimes I wonder why I bother risking my life for those tribes that just keep fighting. They kill each other, they kill us, and it never ends. But erm…" He hummed a little and cleared his throat. "I haven't told you this yet, but ah… There was this girl, with those big brown eyes. She was riding her donkey, and the poor animal stepped on a bomb. I managed to save her. Perhaps we can't stop people hurting each other, but we can…make a difference. So we have to keep trying. And that's…why I love being an army doctor."

Sherlock blinked at him for a long moment, before he smiled softly, "Dear me, John. That's one of the most adorable things I've ever heard!" he smiled widely, giving John a one-armed hug, before he leaned down to whisper in his ear, "I'll tell you a secret, then, John. Normally, I say my rules don't have exceptions. But somehow, you /still/ manage to be an exception, because you're my little hero, and I'll never stop thinking that about you."

The Eye stopped for them and Sherlock returned to normal, briskly thanking the doorman and opening the door for John himself.

A bit flabbergasted, John got in and sat down, glancing around the glass ball. "Well, I'm rather curious," John admitted, "Is the view really good?"

"It certainly is," Sherlock grinned at the darkened sky, "London should be all lit up by now."

John grinned and looked out over the city as they slowly climbed. It was beautiful, John agreed. He smirked at his friend and said off-handedly, "Romantic, wouldn't you say?"

"Very, and I think that it's appropriate that we recently bested Paris as the most romantic city in the world."

"Oh, did we? Awesome. Though I'd like to go to Paris once." John looked away again, admiring their city. "Yes, it's beautiful."

Sherlock smiled, "Sometimes when I miss you, I just visit Angelo's and take the window seat. The bright stars remind me of you. Unreachable, and far away, but reassuring and wonderful."

John looked back at his friend. "Far away, but not unreachable," he said softly.

"You are when you're fighting, or the internet's down," he pointed out, "which is half the time."

John fell silent at that, and stared out of the window. Unreachable indeed. If only Sherlock knew... He cleared his throat and looked out over the city, thoughts focused on the man next to him.

Sherlock also fell into a thoughtful silence, and pulled John into a light hug. "You know what?" he whispered, "I'll try not to mention your absence anymore this fortnight. Let's just have fun and do everything you've wanted to do here in London these last six months."

John smiled again and nodded. "Yes, that'd be a nice idea." He nudged Sherlock's cheek with his nose and sat back up again. "But this has been a wonderful idea, Sherlock. Thank you."

"No trouble whatsoever," Sherlock smiled at him, looking back outside. "Thank you for coming."

John grinned, and together they fully enjoyed the remainder of the trip. Once back on the ground, John tugged Sherlock towards the ice cream stand. "I'm buying."

"Alright, alright, whatever deactivates your bomb," he smirked.

John snorted and instead asked the seller which flavours he had. In the end, John settled for cherry and strawberry cheesecake, and looked at Sherlock. "What do you want?"

"Mmm…mint sounds just fine," he answered, internally wondering who in the world would invent such a flavour as cherry and strawberry cheesecake.

Happily licking, the two friends soon made their way to a bench where they looked out over the river Thames. "So, any plans for tomorrow?" The young soldier asked.

"Not as yet, but we do need to visit your family soon, do we not?" he asked in response.

John pulled a face. "I'd rather not, but yes. We have to visit mum and Harry." He sighed and stretched his legs in front of him. "Day after tomorrow?"

"As you wish. It should be a nice drive then, according to the weather bureau," Sherlock answered. "You don't want to go?"

"No, not really. You know my mum, Lock. It's dreadful." He slowly licked his ice cream, wanting it to last as long as possible.

"She's actually quite sweet. She was to me, anyway, when I frequented your home as a child and teenager," he reminded him.

John huffed. "Yeah, because she loves you better than me, that's why. To her, I'm good for nothing."

"Don't say that!" Sherlock looked at him with a raised eyebrow, "I highly doubt that, John, if she's so eager to see you."

John just huffed and looked away, stubbornly deciding not to reply to that.

Sherlock gave his hair a little ruffle, "Lighten up, Johnnie."

John glared at him. "She /never/ sends a letter or an email. Nothing, ever. And when we are there, we all pretend I didn't come home after six months. She hates that I went in the army. At least you are supportive."

Sherlock sighed, pulling him a little closer. "Of course I am, you're my friend. And, in addition, I know what you do makes you happy. Your interests should matter foremost, before other people's emotional investments."

John lay his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "You really think so? You should tell my mum that, she might agree."

Absently, Sherlock's hand found its way into John's hair, as he hummed thoughtfully. "I will, certainly. I'm sure she does care about you a lot, John. That's why she disapproves of your career choice."

"She shouldn't," John mumbled. "It'd be nice to get a letter from home at times." He shrugged and pressed up in Sherlock's hand.

"I'll talk to her," he promised, smiling reassuringly at him.

"Yeah, thanks," John mumbled, "I'd appreciate that." He began eating the bottom half of his ice cream, relaxing again.

"Anytime," Sherlock continued running his fingers through his friend's hair soothingly.

John smiled gratefully and patted his knee. "Thank you, Lockie."  
They sat there for some more, until John sat up. "Shall we go home?"

Sherlock immediately got up, nodding, "We probably should, John," he agreed, "Mrs Hudson wants me to put up a painting for her, or something of the kind."

John laughed softly. "Okay, cool. I wanna see that."  
Together, they began to make their way home, through a darkening city. "Had fun today?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled softly, keeping his eyes ahead, "Lots, actually. I haven't been about London just for the sake of it for six months."

John smiled too and patiently waited for his friend to open the door for them. While Sherlock fumbled with the lock, John fired off a text.

Sorry, Mary, but I can't come tonight. Family visit. J

You mean tomorrow night, right? That's when we made plans for. Tonight you said you were spending time from your friend. M

Ah, yes, sorry. I am obliged to visit my mother and sister tomorrow, so I am afraid I will have to cancel. Sorry, hon. J

Oh. I see. M

Sorry, Mary. When shall we make a new appointment? If you still want to, that is. J

Anytime you want. Seems like it's up to you, apparently. M

I feel guilty now. Let's get dinner the day after tomorrow? I'll pick you up at 6.30. That's a promise. J

Whatever you say. M

John sighed and stepped in after Sherlock, carelessly stuffing his phone in his pocket. She was angry, he knew, and he would be if he were her, as well.

Sherlock was already making tea for them, and set it on the table a moment later. "John," he commented, looking at him, "you're upset."

John flopped down on the sofa and sighed deeply. "Yeah, Mary."

He sat next to him. "Oh. The blonde. What's the matter now? Did she want to see you tonight? I'm sorry. I ruined your date again, I bet."

John smiled and shook his head. "No, the day after tomorrow. I'm gonna see mum and Harry tomorrow, so we can't go out. She's angry now, that I had to cancel."

Sherlock nodded, giving him a one-armed hug. "I'm sure everything will go just fine, John."  
Once again, the doorbell rang, and there was the sound of voices as Mrs Hudson let someone in. A moment later, a grinning Jim appeared in the room with a bunch of papers. "Hey Sherlock!" he sang brightly, "Just dropping off your assignment. My brother marked it, and he's impressed. 100% correct, he said." Sherlock rose to accept it, thanking him with a smile, "Please send my regards to him."  
"I will! I will! Oh, and I just wanted to ask – do you think I could please have your number?"  
Sherlock obliged, but gave him the professional number he had on his blog, rather than that of his private mobile.

John eyed the man up and down, and had to fight down the urge to slap that Jim person in the face. He was pleased that Sherlock didn't give him his personal number, which made him feel a bit too smug to be good.

Forcibly, Jim gave Sherlock a tight squeeze in thanks before pulling away and bidding him goodnight, ignoring John completely. Sherlock watched him go with an amused brow, having done nothing to return the hug.

John sat back and sipped at his tea, looking up at his friend. "He's very persistent, I have to give him that."

Sherlock looked at John shyly. "Do you…do you think he really likes me? Like that? It's just – weird. Nobody likes me apart from you, let alone in that sense…" he sat back down opposite him, starting to turn his attention to the returned work.

John snorted and rolled his eyes. "Of course there are people who... like you like that. You are handsome, and kind if you want to be, and thoughtful." He hummed and turned to his cup with slightly flushed cheeks.

Sherlock didn't notice, however, and sighed. "But I barely know him. I've just seen him talking to his brother on campus a few times, and that's about it. I don't really like him that much. It's not that there's anything wrong with him, he's clever and friendly, but…"

"Yeah? But what?" John asked, trying to look indifferent.

"He's practically a stranger. And besides, I like someone else." He added almost in audibly, "But they don't return the…feelings."

John blinked at that and his head snapped up. "Really? Who is it?" he asked, almost hopefully. "Do I know... her?'

"Him," Sherlock corrected into his cup, "but it hardly matters." He set the tea back down on his saucer. "They'll never be interested. They're straight. It doesn't really matter, you know. I mean, it's stupid of me to even have hoped. I'm /me/, after all. No one would want a weirdo as their boyfriend. Except maybe Jim, but I still have much to learn about that guy."

John hummed at that and shrugged. "I don't know, Sherlock." He was /gay/. John was almost sure his heart was ready to burst. Gay. So there might be a chance...! "Will you tell me about him?" John asked eagerly.

Sherlock shook his head. "No point, I told you, he's not interested."

* * *

**Author's Note: SherlockedSherlockian**

Good day lovely readers! Just wanted to clarify a point. I have noticed that James and Jim Moriarty, the two brothers, technically share the same name in our story, as in the Canon. This is for a good reason. We have mischief up our sleeve ;)

**Shout-outs:**

WibblyWobblyGirl SpencerReidFan89 8of9  
Starlight05 (THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME ABOUT THAT BRIDGE! I had no idea! I learnt something new! GO YOU!) Chiho Kazusa Sparkie98 Noxlupis Lamiamedicus (thanks! ^^) Serenityofthematrix Kizuki-chan Dernhelmbaggins wholokian427 ShortesttDani olive2097 Drunken Strawberries goodbye-means-forgetting arabia1050 elahe johnsarmylady CowMow Cherik221b

**Yours Always,**  
**SherlockedSherlockian xxx**


	10. Tell Him He's Unnecessary

"How would you know?" John demanded to know, sharply. "Often there's more than meets the eye, you know." He put his cuppa down and crossed his legs. "Besides, you might need some help. Does he know how you feel?"

"I do know! I know him better than he thinks. And he has a girlfriend. And I don't need help. And he doesn't and I'm not telling him." Sherlock pouted, sounding more and more like a child throwing a tantrum.

John couldn't help but feel sorry for his friend. He knew now it wasn't him, because he didn't have a girlfriend, and he knew exactly what Sherlock knew about him. "I'm sorry," he said softly, smiling softly. "I hoped it would turn out better than that."

Sherlock shrugged, "Told you, it doesn't matter. I don't see him that much, anyway."  
John's phone beeped with a text.

_Hi John. Just letting you know, when you pick me up, could you please collect me from the hospital? I just got notified I'm working that day. M_

John hummed, for now ignoring the text. "Well, you can get to know Jim better, then. He seems rather... infatuated." He managed a smile, however painful, and finished his tea.

Sherlock shrugged, "I still won't like him as much as I like y- uhm, the other person." He mentally scolding his brain for taking a moment too long to kick in,

John narrowed his eyes and then grinned. "Y-? What's his name, then?" he tried, smirking.

"It doesn't have a Y in it, actually," Sherlock blushed.

John bit his lip and leaned closer. "You are being very mysterious about it, Lockie. You can trust me, eh."

"That is the exact reason I'm not telling," Sherlock smiled back, pretending to zip his lips.

John pouted and sat back again. "You're no fun!" He huffed and got up to get some more tea, taking Sherlock's cup too.

"Love you too John," Sherlock joked playfully, but of course, he secretly meant it. He settled back to await John's return, wondering if he should drop a hint. It could be dangerous. And, in addition, if he started giving him clues, he would eventually have to tell him who it was, wouldn't he?

John soon returned with their teas, but once he had finished his own he got up and announced he was going to bed. "Night, Lock, and thanks for today."

Sherlock looked up in surprise. It wasn't that late, but he agreed. "Alright, John. Sleep well. And as for your earlier question, I'll give you a hint. His first name begins with a J, but it's not Jim. That's all I'm saying."

John hummed softly, pondering that hint. "Well, that's not helping at all, Sherlock. There are millions of names starting with a J."

"But I don't know a /million/ people with names starting with J!" he laughed, "/Goodnight/ John."

John laughed too and shook his head as he left upstairs. He gently unclasped his new watch and put it on the nightstand. His own name started with a J. But surely Sherlock didn't mean him? Sherlock wouldn't fall in love with someone as boring as John. Would he?

John sighed deeply and pulled his shirt over his head. He'd think about this deeper tomorrow. Now he should sleep.

Sherlock watched him go with a small smile. He settled down on the sofa, curling up with a book. After reading for about two hours, he eventually fell asleep.

When John came down the following morning, he saw Sherlock asleep on the sofa, book lying on the floor. He smiled softly and walked over to him, looking down at his sleeping friend. He was even more handsome than normal, with his relaxed features and innocent expression. John bit his lip and wished he was allowed to stroke those curls off Sherlock's forehead, and press a soft kiss just there.

Sherlock smiled a little in his sleep, shifting very slightly. It was almost like he could sense John's presence in his room.

John pressed his hand to the back of the sofa and leaned over him. He just wanted to kiss those soft lips, feel their warmth under his own. He... /wanted/.

Sherlock stirred a little more below him.

John swallowed thickly and gently brushed the curls off Sherlock's face. And then... he closed his eyes and pulled away despite his heart pushing him forward. He couldn't violate his friend's trust. He shouldn't risk everything.

Sherlock woke at the touch, sitting up in surprise and looking a little disoriented as his synapses caught up. "Oh…morning John."

John managed to smile as if nothing had happened. "Hey, slept well?"

"Mm, really well," he nodded sleepily. "What about you?"

John smiled and straightened. "I slept fine, thanks. What do you want for breakfast?"

"John," he said sweetly, "you're my guest. Shouldn't I be cooking for you? And I have no idea. What do people usually eat for breakfast?"

"Yes, I am, but I love cooking. Full English?"

"Fine." Sherlock mumbled, sitting up properly. "Okay."

John chuckled and left the room to busy himself in the kitchen. He easily located everything, and was soon softly humming to some song on the radio.

Sherlock watched from the sofa with interest. "Do you get to cook in Afghanistan? Or are your meals pre-prepared?" he asked.

John smirked and turned on the stove. "There's a cook, actually, but when we're in the field we eat from tins." He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Why?"

"Just trying to determine how you got so good at it." He stood and walked over to him, leaning against the bench.

John snorted. "One doesn't need to be good at cooking to make a full English, Lock. Look…it's mostly tins and precooked stuff."

Sherlock grinned, "Still. What about the eggs?"

John rolled his eyes. "Everyone can make eggs, Lockie, truly. It's…student food." He grinned and cracked four eggs in the pan, where they started to sizzle and bubble.

Sherlock looked on in fascination. "I can't. At least, I don't think I can. Never tried."

John grinned and handed Sherlock the spatula. "Come on, try it, Lock." He smiled and leaned against the fridge, arms crossed.

Sherlock actually froze with the spatula, looking completely out of his comfort zone. "What am I…supposed to do? Flip them?"

John giggled. "Yes, but not yet. When the edges turn brown, you can flip them."

The next minute saw Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, transform into a toddler. He was giggling in absolute delight as he pushed the sizzling eggs about in the pan, eyes sparkling with delight as he flipped them.

John bit his lip as he looked at Sherlock, and sat down at the table, chin propped up. He smiled softly at his friend, and sighed almost wistfully. "Having fun?"

Sherlock nodded in excitement, plating the eggs and almost skipping over to show them to John proudly.

John nodded appreciatively. "Well done! Beans, bacon, toast and sausages are in the oven." He flashed a grin.

Sherlock sat down and waited, laughing. "Toast in the oven John, really?"

John raised an eyebrow. "To keep warm, idiot." He took the plates out of the oven and put it down on the table, handing Sherlock a fork and knife, as well as a mug of tea after adding milk. "Excellent," he hummed, tucking in right away.

Sherlock's smug smile disappeared as he started eating. "To keep warm…didn't think of that. Who would think of that?"

John chuckled and looked up. "I would, duh." He winked and stuffed his face with egg. "Don't pout, Lockie, the eggs are perfect."

Sherlock's smile returned at that, "Who knew it could be so much fun? Something as domestic as making eggs…"

"Yeah, who knew?" John smiled and looked at Sherlock, allowing some of the love he held for his friend to seep through on his face. It was simply too much to contain, how much he just wanted to shout it at him.

"Thanks for teaching me John," he smiled back warmly, "now I'll have something to do when I'm bored. Until that too gets boring, of course, but it won't for a while." _Because you taught it to me, _he thought mentally.

John smirked and happily chewed his breakfast. "Well, there are other ways to prepare an egg. Poached, boiled, scrambled... You should try them one day." He smiled at his friend. "It's some sort of science, after all."

Sherlock nodded like it was Christmas. "Even better! I can use all my free time to learn how to cook! Hang on, I'm just going to go call Jim and tell him he's unnecessary." He bolted off to find the details he had obtained.

* * *

**Author's Note: SherlockedSherlockian**

Hello everyone,

Thank you for your patience! Life has been busy, busy, busy! But I hope this longish chapter compensates somewhat - and you will also be getting a first kiss in the near future, if that compensates.

_Two Things To NB:_

Mentions of London Bridge: We mean either Old London Bridge or Tower Bridge

Moriarty: We are aware that one brother is named Jim and the other is named James

SHOUT OUTS TO OUR LOVELY READERS:

Christine Eponine sheholmes 8of9 Starlight05 Serenityofthematrix Noxlupis Lamiamedicus johnsarmylady faultierqueen Francine S mishalee KellzKat Eruva darkerangel1 Delin Nobody SundarDibujar jowhoknits Plexy MomotsukiNezumi keegigi

**_Yours always,_**

**_SherlockedSherlockian xxx_**


	11. No Matter What You Do

John knew he should tell Sherlock that that was rude, but he just wanted Jim to piss off.

When Sherlock came back, he was a tad more subdued, but still looking excited. "John, can you bake?" he asked.

"Erm... yeah, I can. Why?" John asked, noticing the small change in his friend's demeanour.

"Can you teach me before you go? I can send a poisoned cake to Mycroft."

John laughed heartily and nodded, "Sure, Lockie. No prob. But now we need to get dressed. Mum's waiting." He scowled and finished his tea.

Sherlock nodded happily. He got up and went to his room, changing into grey jeans and a teal blue button-up. He added some sweet-smelling cologne and ran a hand through his hair. He had not seen John's family in quite a while, and was personally looking forward to it.

John swiftly dressed and shaved, appearing into the living room a few minutes later. He wore black trousers, and his new, bright blue shirt, and his new watch. "Ready, Lock? Wanna go by Tube or walk?"

"Tube will be better," Sherlock responded, smiling at him, "you look wonderful."

"Thanks, Sherlock, you too." John eyed him up and down, and met Sherlock's eye.

He simply grinned at him in response, heading out of the flat. It was a pleasant day outside, with the sun already starting to peak through the clouds.

John followed his friend outside, and together they walked to the nearest tube station. After a bit, John asked, "You'll still tell my mum to shove it?"

"As politely as I can, John," Sherlock answered with a small smile.

John chuckled. "Well, that's something I'd like to see happening," John replied. "Do it your way."

"But my way with your mum /is/ polite," Sherlock sniffed. "Just you see."

John held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, forget I said anything."

Sherlock grinned, elbowing his friend painlessly in the side, "And you call me dramatic."

John grinned and kept walking, grinning like a true idiot. "Charmer."

Never one to be bested, Sherlock quickly answered, "Soldier."

John laughed and nudged him with his hip. "Flirt."

That shut Sherlock up for a bit, before he eventually answered, "Really? If so, player."

John frowned, and glanced at his friend. "No, I'm not, Sherlock. Do you really think I am?"

"Do you really think /I'm/ a flirt?" he countered.

John hummed. "Alright, you're right. You're not a flirt, though you certainly did smile at Jim a bit too much."

"What? Smiling is now classed as flirting? Really, John. I don't pretend to keep up with the ways of the romantics."

Of course he didn't. John sighed dejectedly and grabbed some change to pay for their tickets. "Okay," he mumbled, handing Sherlock his ticket.

When they got on, Sherlock thanked him, before sitting down opposite him and taking his hand. "You know I'm only toying with you, John. I don't mean it," he smiled, "I think you're perfect just how you are."

John's breath caught in his throat when he saw Sherlock's hand around his own. "Oh, erm..."

He smiled and pulled back, settling back in his seat to look out the window.

John smirked and sat back, too, enjoying his view - Sherlock was quite a beautiful sight.

"How is your sister, by the way?"

"Harry? Erm, I dunno. I only spoke to mum on the phone," John replied, "Why?"

"Just asking. You're clearly worried."

John sighed and tilted his head back. "I always am. She will drink herself to death one day."

Sherlock frowned. "Don't say that. It's probably just a phase. It wasn't like this before her break-up, was it?"

"I dunno," John mumbled, "Not as bad, no, but she has always been a drinker."

He nodded, looking across at him. "She needs a new girlfriend, I'd say."

John huffed and looked out of the window. "Yeah, I suppose. We Watsons aren't very good at that, obviously."

"Rubbish, you have one."

John frowned and looked back at Sherlock. "No, I don't have a girlfriend. Did you think Mary was mine? I have only known her for one day, Sherlock! It doesn't go that fast."

Sherlock was about to make some snarky comment about John knowing her for a day /and night/, but figured it wasn't appropriate and John would get upset again. "But you're clearly meeting again."

John shrugged. "Just drinks, I don't know if I want to... pursue this. I have better things to do during these two weeks." He gave his friend a soft grin. "I want these two weeks to count, to be your friend."

Sherlock smiled warmly at him, eyes joining in, "You don't need to sacrifice your happiness for me, as sweet as that is."

John smiled a bit. "It's no sacrifice, Sherlock. At all," He said meaningfully. He cleared his throat and quickly looked away, getting up when it was their stop.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and smirked, following after him. Time to impress the Watson household…again.

They walked to John's old childhood-home, where Jane had already opened the door for her son and his friend. John sighed and steeled himself, forcing a smile on his face when she waved at him.

"Mrs Watson!" with a big, charming smile, Sherlock walked up with a spring in her step, giving her a tight hug and kissing her cheek. "It's been forever! How are you keeping?"

John followed after his friend, giving her a simple kiss. Of course, no one spoke about the war, or the army.

"That was bloody ridiculous!" Five hours later, John slammed the kettle down on the counter in the kitchen of 221B, angrily flicking the button to turn it on. "It was... fuck!" He balled his hands to fists and closed his eyes. "Not one fucking word!"

"Control yourself, John. I spoke to her before we left. She doesn't want to think about losing you, that's all."

John's grip around his mug tightened, his jaw set. 'That's shite, and she knows it! Never one word! I don't even get to bloody explain why I made that choice! She just doesn't fucking /care/!"

"John. Come here." He wrapped his arms around his friend and gave him a hug. "Just breathe."

John closed his eyes and sagged against his friend. "I just want her to care," he whispered, "Just tell her what has happened, just…talk. I can't talk to anyone. You don't like it either..."

"John Hamish Watson, I want you to be fully aware that you can talk to me about anything and everything, and putting aside my own concerns, I will never be anything but understanding and helpful where I can be. I promise you that."

John clenched his teeth, and hugged Sherlock just a bit tighter. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely. "I will remember that."

"Please do." He ran his fingers fondly through John's blond hair. "I'm /always/ here for you, John, no matter what you do."

John bit his lip and pulled away, looking up into kind grey eyes, while a slender hand was still in his hair. "Anything?"

Sherlock nodded. "Anything, anytime."

* * *

**Author's Note: SherlockedSherlockian**

As always dear readers, sorry for the** tardi**ne**s**s! SPECIAL SURPRISE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER, PROMISE!  
Thank you and thank you again for your patience - I hope you're all looking forward to the 50th Anniversary (need I elaborate?), or The Desolation of Smaug, or Sherlock Season 3 (_obviously_) or hopefully...all three!

Shout outs:

Christine Eponine sheholmes 8of9 Starlight05 Serenityofthematrix Noxlupis Lamiamedicus johnsarmylady faultierqueen Francine S mishalee KellzKat Eruva darkerangel1 Delin Nobody SundarDibujar jowhoknits Plexy MomotsukiNezumi keegigi Firelizard Tamer MasterSerina83 Atala Embers melnilscris LetsMakeBabiesWaitNevermind I'm not dead. Lets have dinner ilovemusic11 ilovemusic11 Captian-Winter artist-chan DarkObsession008 Hanakasama 8of9 Starlight05 Christine Eponine AliceInCrazyland15 LivingLegends MouraMoura DarKAngel466 Serenityofthematrix

AND THANK YOU FOR THIS, COWMOW!

**Yours always,**

**SherlockedSherlockian xxx**


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